


The Downward Spiral of Adam Keir

by Noëlle McHenry (Quasi_Detective)



Series: Project Eclipse [20]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Advice, Age Difference, Apologies, Arguing, Attempted Murder, Awkwardness, Backstory, Begging, Bible, Bible Quotes, Biblical References, Breaking and Entering, Brooding, Canon Backstory, Churches & Cathedrals, Coffee Shops, Comfort, Confessions, Conflict, Confusion, Constructed Reality, Conversations, Crying, Daydreaming, Denial of Feelings, Descent into Madness, Desperation, Developing Relationship, Drama & Romance, Dreams and Nightmares, Drinking & Talking, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Fights, Fire, First Meetings, Fist Fights, Flashbacks, Flirting, Flowers, Foreshadowing, Grocery Shopping, Guilt, Hallucinations, Hugs, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Internal Conflict, Kissing, Language of Flowers, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, Making Out, Male Friendship, Male Protagonist, Married Couple, Nervousness, Panic, Partner Betrayal, Plot Twists, Psychological Drama, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Regret, Rejection, Relationship(s), Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Reminiscing, Rescue, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Sleeping Together, Slice of Life, Slow To Update, Stalking, Suicide Attempt, Surreal, Suspense, Therapy, Twitter, Unconsciousness, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-12-17 20:03:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 69,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11858691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasi_Detective/pseuds/No%C3%ABlle%20McHenry
Summary: A married man, 34-year-old Adam Keir lives in Chicago and works in a pawn shop with his best friend. On the side, he makes surreal videos. But recently, he's been the victim of a spell of artist's block. Neither his wife nor his friend are able to help get his creative juices flowing again, and he begins to lose hope in ever returning to his hobby.Then, one day, he meets 19-year-old super-fan, Evangeline Thompson. Her support and apparent crush on him re-ignite his dwindling imagination, but his conflicted feelings about her growing obsession with him quickly twist it out of control. Not too soon after, he finds himself unable to tell what's real and what isn't. Just as he begins to think that things can't possibly get any worse, though, he begins to realize that Evangeline might not be wrong when she insists that her obsession with him is mutual . . .A short slice of life dramatic suspense novel by Noëlle McHenry about an average man whose average life spirals rapidly out of control.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cover: <http://fav.me/dbkuf7k>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2 (September 17th, 2017): Slight formatting fixes.  
> Edit 1 (August 24th, 2017): Abridged at the request of 51 Amino users. Slight grammatical fixes.  
> Posted on August 20th, 2017.

There once was a man. He led a good life, and had a wife. He was happy. But then, during a moment of solitude, in washed the darkness. A girl stepped out of it and beckoned to him. By the time he started to struggle, he realized that she’d already wound around him a web of flesh. He was tangled in it, and though he fought to reach back to the doorway he’d entered from, with every second he was dragged further away from it—further into the abyss. There was no escaping from the girl who wanted him for her own. When he turned and looked at her, he saw that she now had the face of a spider. Piece by piece, she began to eat him up, but he felt no pain. He felt nothing anymore . . . _No, too edgy.  
_             Without hesitance, Adam Keir deleted everything from his video. He had spent all day throwing together the visuals, but had only just sat down to think about the concept. It wasn’t surreal enough, it was just dark for the sake of being dark. Defeated, he laid his head down on the desk, in front of his art tablet. He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d run dry on ideas. He was in the midst of a major artist’s block that had been plaguing him since his last video two months prior. His viewers were getting concerned, because he usually uploaded once a month. But here he was, hardly able to brainstorm a single good idea, much less make an entire video based around one. His hands wanted to work, but his brain didn’t want to cooperate. It didn’t help that he was tired.  
            With a yawn, he lifted his head. He laid his head on his hand, elbow resting on the arm of his rolling black chair, and covered his eyes with his palm and fingers. He wasn’t sure what time it was, because he hadn’t checked, but he assumed that it was around 7:30 in the morning. It wouldn’t have been so bad a time had it not meant that he’d now been awake for twenty-four hours.  
            The office door opened behind him, allowing light into the room that had otherwise been illuminated only by the glow of the computer monitor. “Adam?” It was Larisa, his wife of four years. “Are you still awake?”  
            “Mm-hmm,” he grumbled back at her without moving.  
            “Didn’t you get any sleep?”  
            “Nope.”  
            She approached with a low sigh. This wasn’t unexpected of her husband, but she worried for him regardless. Trying to be supportive, she held his shoulder and asked, “How much did you get done?”  
            “Zip.”  
            “Nothing?”  
            “At all.”  
            “Sorry to hear that.” She left him alone after that, knowing that he needed his solitude, and that she needed to go to work.  
            Twenty minutes after Larisa left for work, Adam forced himself to get up. In a daze, he drifted downstairs and entered the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee and heated up a bagel, and then sat down at the kitchen table. After taking a bite of his bagel, he zoned out. With vacant eyes he stared at the dark surface of the hot coffee in his mug. He imagined the coffee to be a huge lake filled with pollution. On it, in a little canoe, was a man with no skin. He wore overalls and a fishing hat, but his fishing rod looked more like a long scythe. He reached his tool down into the murky brown water and fished out a limbless infant who cooed at him. Onto his lap the poor, forsaken creature went, and he started to feed it tiny, squirming . . . octopus tentacles?  
            _What does that even mean?_ Adam wondered, bewildered by his own idea. He couldn’t use that concept either, since even though it had started out somewhat metaphorical, it had quickly derailed into something merely disturbing. With a big sip of his coffee, he swallowed away the thought and shook his head clear, bringing his full focus back onto reality and off of his surreal imagination.

* * *

It was sunny outside. His walk to work, up South Union Avenue and down 95th Street, was uneventful, but when he pulled open the door to Waller’s Pawn Shop, that changed. The first thing he heard was “I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight” by Cutting Crew. The store was inhabited only by his best friend, Jesse Waller, who was the owner of the establishment. Jesse had perched up on the stool behind the counter, with his foot on said surface. He rocked out to the old tune blaring out of the speakers attached to his computer, and he pantomimed holding a microphone in front of his face as he sang along to the end of the first chorus. He was a terrible singer, but also one to enjoy life and do as he pleased.  
            For a moment Adam considered turning around and leaving the shop, but instead he stood petrified, staring at Jesse as he rocked out to the instrumental. Then it was too late for him to flee, as his friend pointed at him with a pseudo-emotional look on his face.  
            “ _Is there any just cause for feeling like this?_ ” he “sung”. “ _On the surface I’m a name on a list!_ ” As his friend began shaking his head in an amused sort of disapproval, he cried, “ _I try to be discreet,_ ” then whispered dramatically, “ _but then blow it again._ ” He swung himself back and did air guitar until the lyrics continued a second later.  
            “Jesus Christ,” mumbled Adam, trying not to laugh. “Do you always have to be so _enthusiastic_ about doing this every day? What if a customer walks in and sees this?”  
            Jesse’s only answer was to continue singing.  
            “I’m going to go change my shirt in the bathroom. When I come out, you’d better be done.” With that, Adam walked across the shop and entered the staff-only bathroom. He’d brought with him a bag containing his work t-shirt, which was black and had the shop’s logo emblazoned upon its chest. Both casual and brisk, he took off the gray t-shirt that he was currently wearing and slipped on the black one in his bag. Then, he looked at his reflection.  
            His round-shaped face was softened by a short beard as dark as his brown hair. As usual, his short bangs were styled upwards and ever-so-slightly forward in a messy style that Jesse liked to refer to as “the limp paintbrush haircut”. The rest of the world, including Adam, called it a “quiff”, but there was no arguing with Jesse Waller once he’d decided on something. After dampening his hand with water from the sink, Adam slicked back his bangs to appear more professional. Whenever the odd person did enter their shop, they tended to avoid Jesse and his zany personality. Most visitors preferred Adam’s calm, serious demeanor. After all, he wasn’t the one shrieking the lyrics to an 80s song or trying to force them to sing along. But most of the time, Adam and Jesse just sat together behind the counter and talked.  
            On a good day, they would get maybe six or seven visitors. The lack of profit didn’t worry them too much, though—not Adam, because he wasn’t invested in the trade business and was only working the job for money and to please Jesse, and not Jesse, because while he technically owned the shop, his and Adam’s wages were both paid for by his father, who had retired from the trade business to pass it down to his son. Of course, Adam assumed that Jesse’s father was furious with their incompetence, though he’d never been given any indication of that being the case. For all he knew, Mr. Waller _understood_ the lack of customers.  
            Adam was about to leave the bathroom when his phone dinged in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at his notification wall; he had a new follower on Twitter. He didn’t look into it any further, and instead decided to put his phone on silent. A split second before he turned off the screen, he saw another notification flash by to inform him of a new Instagram follower. Then he put the phone back in his pocket.  
            Guess I have a new fan, he thought to himself nonchalantly. It wasn’t uncommon for him to get the occasional fan following him on every social media channel he was on. So it was easy for him to forget about the notifications. Taking his bag with him, he left the bathroom. Jesse was now calmer than before, sitting idly at the computer and checking his Facebook.  
            “How’s the new video coming along?” he inquired as he scrolled down his feed.  
            Adam approached the counter and sat his bag down behind it before taking a seat on the stool to the left of Jesse. “Not good,” he answered. “I haven’t got any ideas to work with.”  
            Jesse flashed him a look of both concern and disbelief. “You? No ideas? Preposterous.”  
            The shorter man shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. It’s like the creativity’s just . . . been sapped away or something. I’m running on empty.”  
            “I mean you still enjoy it, right?”  
            “Of course. But my imagination’s either getting tamer or less sane, I can’t tell.”  
            “Well,” assured Jesse with a big dorky smile, “people love insane!”  
            Adam frowned. “I like my videos to have meaning to them, Jess.”  
            “What was the meaning of your last video?”  
            “I don’t remember my last video.”  
            “You know, ‘I’m so excited’? With that fucked up man-child thing dancing alone in some fire-destroyed house to a distorted version of ‘I’m So Excited’ by the Pointer Sisters?”  
            “Oh. Its meaning was ambiguous, but my opinion is that it represents the childlike happiness that some people keep despite hell and high water. Even as we grow older, most of us keep a remnant of our childhood selves within us, if only for comfort. We get excited by new concepts even when our worlds are falling apart around us.” Then, after a long pause, Adam mumbled, “Or something like that.”  
            Jesse stared at Adam in silence for a few seconds, and then said, “Yeah. Just . . . do something like that again. It got a lot of likes somehow.”  
            “Because of the song, I guess.”  
            Jesse was five feet ten inches tall with long legs and skinny limbs. His skin was white, but had a slight tan from frequent exposure to sunlight. His short black hair was shaped into a regular professional haircut and he had no facial hair, since he always did close shaves. Two years prior he had tried to grow a light beard like Adam’s, but it didn’t suit him and his heart-shaped face one bit, so he’d returned to his regular shaving routine.  
            In contrast to his friend, Adam was only five feet eight inches tall and was slightly above his expected weight. He was quite pale, with a pasty complexion in some lighting, because he preferred staying inside. He always wore t-shirts and tight jeans; something about long-sleeved shirts made him uncomfortable, and if he wasn’t wearing his jeans, then he was asleep in nothing but his briefs.  
            The two of them had been best friends since elementary school. Jesse was the class clown even at a young age, and Adam was the shy kid who never said a word. They met because they were in the same class in the third grade and because Adam had snickered when Jesse insulted their teacher. Of course they had both been sent to the principal’s office for it. But on the walk back to their class after a stern lecture about respecting their elders, Jesse introduced himself. And for the first time, Adam spoke to one of his peers by returning the gesture. From that moment forward, they had known that they shared some special connection. By all accounts, though, they should’ve hated each other’s guts; Jesse was a reckless idealist who took nothing seriously, and Adam was a very serious and aloof realist.  
            A testament to Jesse’s eccentric nature was how he’d never settled down with anyone. He’d never even had a girlfriend for more than a week. Adam still wondered about his friend’s love life, but he never asked questions about it anymore, because the previous times he had, his questions had been answered only with quips, some sexist and some completely unrelated to the topic. In the back of his mind he secretly harbored the idea that Jesse was a closeted homosexual in love with a man who didn’t love him back, and maybe that man was him, but he of course never told anyone this idea or allowed himself to feed it by taking Jesse’s jokes and remarks toward him out of context.  
            “So, how’s the Missus?” asked Jesse.  
            “She’s fine.”  
            “How’s her job treating her?”  
            “I haven’t heard any complaints.”  
            Jesse grunted in understanding, then laughed wryly. “It’s just as well that she went into accounting. Could’ve settled for being someone’s secretary. Good for her, expressing her knack for mathematics. I can hardly remember my times tables, let alone work as an accountant.”  
            Adam didn’t say anything in response. He watched as Jesse scrolled further down his Facebook feed and liked a selfie of Larisa that he hadn’t seen before.  
            “Your wife’s a babe, too,” he said as he changed his like to a “Love” reaction. In a teasing tone, he added, “I’m jealous.”  
            “Envious,” corrected Adam. “You’re _envious_ , not jealous.”  
            “Why not both?”  
            Adam didn’t have an answer, whether the counter-remark was a joke or not. Could someone be both envious and jealous? He couldn’t see why not.  
            The phone sitting beside Jesse rang, and he answered it after two rings. “Waller’s Pawn Shop; this is Jesse, how may I help you?” He stood up and walked past Adam, over to the section near the back of the store where they kept pawned instruments. “Let me see . . . Hmm, no, we don’t have any Rickenbacker 360s, but we do have a single Rickenbacker 3 _30_. Mm-hmm. I see. Well, the 330 has one less pickup. A 330/12? Let me check for you.”  
            As Jesse went into the storage room to see if they had what the potential customer wanted, Adam failed to suppress a yawn. He was worn out from not sleeping. So he laid his head down onto his arms on the counter and zoned out, trying to lose himself in his imagination.  
            He saw a woman on a subway train. She sat alone in one of the compartments, holding her purse on her lap. She looked nervous. With a timid duck of her head, she peered into her purse. Then she sat up rigidly when a man entered the compartment. He swung his limbs as he walked, and then he took a seat right beside her. She began to sweat.  
            “Nice weather, huh?” he asked her out of the blue.  
            She was quiet for a moment, but then said, “No.”  
            The man did not reply. There was a long beat of stillness. The only sound came from the rumbling of the train on its tracks. It was dark inside the compartment, but little flashes of light would pierce through the windows for a split second at a time.  
            When she could bear the silence no longer, she asked—  
            “Adam? You sleepin’ on the job again, buddy?”  
            Adam jolted back up into an upright sitting position at the sound of Jesse’s voice. “No,” he assured, somewhat groggily. “I’m awake. Just thinking.”  
            Jesse moved past him and placed the phone back into its charger. “We’ve got someone coming in half an hour to pick up our Rickenbacker 330/12.”  
            “Okay,” Adam said. Then, realizing that Jesse was staring at him, he tried to sound more enthusiastic: “Great.”  
            “This is an expensive guitar we’re selling!”  
            “Okay,” Adam repeated.  
            “Do you _know_ how awesome the Rickenbacker 330/12 is?”  
            Adam’s only response was to furrow his brows, although it was more of an unconscious reaction than an actual reply.  
            Exasperated by his friend’s guitar-ignorance, Jesse made a noise that Adam would forever be unable to describe with real words (it was something like a “feh” combined with a phlegm-y noise of utter distaste). Then he walked off and disappeared back into the storage room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 1 (September 17th, 2017): Slight formatting fixes.  
> Originally part of chapter one, but separated at the request of 51 Amino users.  
> Posted on August 25th, 2017.

The customer arrived forty-five minutes later: a middle-aged man who looked older than Adam and Jesse but was probably younger, who was wearing a green polo shirt and khaki shorts. If Adam had to guess, he was probably a father looking to impress his teenaged son, though he had no way of knowing for sure. What he paid attention to on the customer the most was how lightly he was dressed.  
            “A little summery for October, isn’t it?” he wanted to say to the man, but didn’t.  
            Jesse did his best to sell the guitar to the man, but regardless of his childlike enthusiasm and eager recommendations, he still seemed unimpressed.  
            “It’s no Fireglo,” he said, commenting disappointedly on it being a Mapleglo.  
            That silenced Jesse for a moment. Noticing that his friend and co-worker (boss? One of the two, anyway) seemed offended by the complaint, Adam did his best to take over.  
            “It’s not, but this guitar is the next best thing,” he explained, even though he had no clue if that was right or not. Jesse shot him a look, and that scared him until he noticed that it was a pleased look and not a judging one.  
            “It really is,” affirmed Jesse. “Believe me when I say that it’s definitely worth the price. It’s a personal favorite. Don’t let its cheaper price fool you; it’s not insuperior to the Fireglo.”  
            Unable to let Jesse get away with using a made-up word, Adam corrected, “What he means is that it’s nowhere near inferior.”  
            The customer raised a brow in what they initially thought to be doubt, but when he asked to try it out, they realized that it had been intrigue. After three or four minutes of strumming different melodies, he stood up and did indeed decide to take the Rickenbacker 330/12 Mapleglo off of their hands.  
            “How much for it?” he asked.  
            “$2,500,” answered Jesse, sounding proud. Adam looked at him with wide, perturbed eyes, but didn’t say anything. To his surprise, the customer seemed _pleased_ with the price.  
            “Only $2,500? Are you sure?”  
            “Well, it _is_ used. It’s a real bargain, isn’t it?”  
            “I’ll say. You take credit cards, right?”  
            “Absolutely.”  
            As the customer paid, Adam had to fight off the urge to ask him to reconsider. He just couldn’t believe that he was _okay_ with paying so much money on the spot for a guitar, much less a used one. He didn’t know a thing about guitars, but surely this was too expensive! Apparently satisfied, the customer left, and once they were alone together, Adam stared at Jesse as though he’d crossed some unspoken line.  
            “$2,500?” he asked his friend, astonished. “For a _guitar_?”  
            “Are you kidding me?” countered Jesse. “A guitar like that’s worth $3,000 _at least_. He might as well have stolen it from us!” Despite this, he eyed the transaction details on his computer’s screen with a satisfied, greedy grin.  
            Adam shook his head. “I feel like we ripped him off. That seems like way too much money to me.”  
            “You’re such a miser, Adam. If only you were in control of my bank account and stopped me from making reckless purchases. Like if when I put my card into a machine, your voice came out and said, ‘Jesse, that seems like way too much money to me. Don’t buy that mini-fridge; you really don’t need it and you’ll only end up keeping it in the corner of your garage forever.’”  
            “You have a mini-fridge?”  
            “Yeah, I bought it last month. I thought about adding it to the shop’s inventory yesterday, but I kind of want to keep it, even if I don’t use it.”  
            Adam lowered his head and sighed. “If I’m a miser,” he muttered, “then _you’re_ a hoarder.”

* * *

At 6:00 in the evening, they closed up shop for the day, and after changing back into his gray t-shirt, Adam headed back home. He would be alone for at least two hours; Larisa’s work ended at 8:00, but she didn’t usually make it back home until 9:30 at the earliest. One night last month, she hadn’t returned until 2:00 AM. So he wasn’t expecting her back until much later. Hence why he was so surprised to see her in the dining room when he stepped inside.  
            The dining room was dimly lit by candles. He could smell cooked beef. She stood behind the table, right in his line of sight from the front door, setting plates down on the table. Her brown hair was freshly-curled, and she was wearing a slimming black dress that made him feel like he was dressed much too casually. She glanced up at him with bedroom eyes and beckoned him closer. His heart in his throat, he tried to shake confidence back into himself before stepping into the room.  
            “Hi, honey,” she purred. “I made dinner.”  
            _How unusual_ , Adam thought, but he didn’t say this. Instead, he mumbled, “I can tell,” like an idiot. But Larisa was unfazed by her husband’s gracelessness. She paced over to his chair and pulled it out. Then she waited until he snapped out of his surprise long enough to take a seat. Once he had, she disappeared into the kitchen.  
            “What’s the occasion?” Adam inquired nervously as he stared at the table cloth and listened to the sound of glasses clinking. He deduced from the sound that Larisa had bought wine, but was still taken aback when she returned and revealed that he was right. She placed down a wine glass on either side of the table and poured him a glass before pouring herself one.  
            “It’s been a while since we’ve had a ‘you-and-me’ night,” was her answer. She placed down the bottle of wine on the center of the table and sat down in her chair. “You like beef steak, right? Lightly seasoned?”  
            “Yeah,” he answered quickly. Larisa always had the worst timing when it came to being in the mood. Clearly, she wanted to have sex. But Adam, obsessed with his work, only wanted to disappear into his office for the rest of the night to brainstorm. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Larisa; he could feel his desire for her beneath the surface, but smothering it was his desire to do something more productive. He was in a working mood. If he allowed her to distract him, then he would lose the motivation that he’d been searching for.  
            _But she’s already distracted me, hasn’t she? If I deny her, she’ll get annoyed, and that will stress me out. Damn you, Larisa!_  
            “Is something the matter?”  
            Adam looked at her. “No,” he told her, “everything’s fine.” Though he felt a spark of anger in his chest, he tried not to look too passive-aggressive as he cut off a piece of steak and speared it on his fork. As he ate, Larisa seemed to notice the change in his mood. She made a face of mild frustration, and her tongue moved up and rubbed against the outside of her top left canine. It was a subtle expression, but one that Adam recognized. Even so, she began to eat as well. Both of them were quiet until Adam picked up his wine glass and took a sip.  
            Gazing up at the ceiling and still holding the wine glass in his hands, elbows on the table, Adam began, “Larisa—”  
            “Yes?” She cut him off immediately, whether she meant to or not.  
            He moved his jaw anxiously and realized that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be upfront about rejecting her. He had wanted to say, “Larisa, I have some work to do,” but knew that she wouldn’t take that too well. He had to find a softer way to turn her down. But he had no tact or social grace—he didn’t have a single clue how to be anything but honest without sounding forced, and he knew it. So, instead, he asked her, “Could you pass the salt?”  
            “You know, you don’t have to be afraid to talk to me,” said Larisa as she handed over the salt shaker. “I’m your wife, not a stranger.”  
            _Oh, Larisa. If only you knew that I’d be a lot more comfortable right now if you were a stranger._  
            “I know,” Adam answered meekly. He shook out some salt onto his steak, and then took another bite of it. “This is good.”  
            Larisa sighed. “You want to work tonight, right?” She didn’t sound surprised. Displeased, for sure, but not surprised.  
            Adam huffed and answered, “I think so.”  
            Disappointed but not angry, Larisa resumed cutting her steak. “Well, at least finish dinner with me.”  
            He wasn’t sure why he was so certain that she would be angry with him. He had rejected her moves three times in a row now, and each time she’d been less and less annoyed. The rest of their dinner was rather quiet. Once they were both finished, Larisa picked up their dishes and glasses with waitress-like efficiency. Adam grabbed the bottle of wine and followed her into the kitchen. After putting the bottle down onto the counter and watching her put the dishes in the sink, he leaned closer and pecked her cheek.  
            “Thanks for dinner,” he told her.  
            “You’re welcome.”  
            He lingered in the doorway for a moment and watched her squirt dish soap onto the plates before he finally turned away and made his way upstairs. But halfway up the stairs he stopped in his tracks. Curious, he sat down on the step and listened. Sure enough, after a minute or two, he heard her start talking to someone on her cellphone.  
            “Hey, it’s me,” she began. “I want to see you. Yes, tonight, when else? I’m fine. Washing dishes right now. Where can I meet you? All right . . . All right. See you in a little bit.”  
            Adam stood back up and crept the rest of the way upstairs and to his office. He carefully closed the door, then sat down in his chair and turned on his computer monitor.  
            Larisa’s suspicious phone call did not hurt him in the slightest. In fact, he was rather apathetic to it: she had been making such calls since the first time he rejected her. It was as if she had a backup plan. She always used the excuse that something work-related had come up last minute—that she’d forgotten to document some payment in her records, or something along those lines. But while he was apathetic to it, something deep within him told him that he shouldn’t be. The only thing that hurt him was the degree of his own indifference when faced with the idea that his wife might be cheating.  
            After five minutes of staring at the empty video project on his screen, he heard Larisa coming up the stairs. Ten minutes later, she knocked on the door, and then poked her head into his office. When he glanced at her, he noticed that she now had more makeup on than before.  
            “Adam, something came up at work. I’ll be back in a little while, all right?”  
            “Sure,” he answered in a flat, terse voice. She smiled at him worriedly, then left. He waited until he heard her heading back downstairs—now wearing high heels, by the sound of it—before he let out a heavy sigh.  
            To get his mind off of Larisa, he decided to check his social media. He checked Twitter first and, having forgotten about the notifications from earlier, was startled to see an overflow of notifications and one direct message. By force of habit, he checked the notifications first. Almost all of them were from one person, who had followed him and not only liked every single one of his tweets, but had also retweeted them _and_ left a comment on each one.  
            His immediate thought was that she was liking and retweeting them ironically, and that her comments were backhanded. But as he read them, he began to think instead that they were genuine.  
            “I love this!” said one, and “This is amazing!” said another, and another read “Super freaky, but in a great way! Keep it up!”  
            He was so confused. Was she a bot of some sort? Checking the message, which was of course from her, didn’t help to dispel his qualm.  
            “Hiya! I discovered your videos today, and OMG, I am OBSESSED! It’s so cool to discover someone so awesome and handsome who lives in the same city as me! I wanted to let you know that you’ve got a new biggest fan! I would just die if you replied, but I know you must be busy. I’ll be watching you from now on! I love you!”  
            “What?” escaped his lips. Surely, he thought, he was missing something. Some sort of URL that she’d linked to—perhaps a bit.ly link—or _something_. But there was nothing of the sort. So, still perplexed, he decided to examine her profile.  
            Her account name was Evangeline Thompson, which he assumed to be her real name—assuming that she was in fact a real person at all. She was 19 years old, apparently. In her profile picture, it was revealed that she had light blonde hair, almost platinum. Her eyes were a ghostly shade of blue, or perhaps they only looked so due to the blue lighting in the picture. Her smile was gorgeous, and Adam had to admit that he thought she was pretty cute—assuming that this was really _her_ picture, and not just something snatched off of the internet. Were he not about to turn 35 at the end of the month, and instead about to turn something more like 22, he might have been more interested in her than he told himself he currently was. Was it the lack of sleep that was causing him to have to scold himself out of finding her attractive, when he shouldn’t have thought that to begin with? Must be, he thought.  
            Overall, her profile seemed legitimate. She didn’t have any weird links, and her tweets before retweeting all of his were typical of a teenaged girl. Her account’s description was a casual sort of “welcome” message with a winking emoji at the end.  
            Despite his better judgment, Adam decided to reply to her message. She _had_ gone to the trouble of liking, commenting on, and retweeting _every single one_ of his tweets, after all. The least he could do was thank her.  
            “Thank you for your support, Evangeline!” he wrote. “I’m glad to hear that you enjoy my content, and I hope that you will continue to support me in the future. – Adam”.  
            He was about to move on when he got a reply.  
            _Wow, that was fast . . . Was she_ waiting _?_  
            “OMG!! I’m so happy you replied! Thank you! Of course I’ll continue to support you!” She ended her reply with a blushing, heart-eyed emoji.  
            Feeling like it would be rude to not reply to this, he concluded, “Glad to hear it. Take care. – Adam”.  
            “You too! Love you!”  
            Her seemingly-casual usage of the phrase “I love you” unnerved him. He did not reply to this message, assuming that it signaled the end of their brief conversation. After checking his other social media accounts (discovering that Evangeline had done the same thing everywhere else, and not just on Twitter), he determined that he was too tired to work on anything. Would Larisa be upset to come home and find him asleep? Maybe, but he was about to pass out he was so tired. So he got up from his chair and prepared for bed, all the while trying to push the thought of Evangeline Thompson to the back of his mind and leave it there to be forgotten later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 1 (September 17th, 2017): Slight formatting fixes.  
> Posted on September 3rd, 2017.

He saw the subway train again. Still the woman was there, and so was the man who had taken it upon himself to sit beside her. There was a long beat of stillness, during which neither of them spoke. The only sound came from the rumbling of the train, and the only light came in abrupt flashes through the windows.  
            When she could bear the silence no longer, she asked, “Do you know where we’re headed?”  
            Without looking at her, the man answered, “Yes. But it’s no concern of yours.”  
            She tried to stay calm, but her hands were trembling against her will. The man did nothing but sit beside her, but somehow that was enough to give her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. She felt unsafe, but also like he would attack her if she tried to move away from him. She looked back down into her purse and stared at the tiny pistol at the bottom. Would she be able to shoot him before he did something to her? Should she? Was she being paranoid?  
            As she thought, the compartment door to her far left opened. Into the compartment stepped another man, but this one was huge. He stood at least seven feet tall. Over his head was a burlap sack with eyeholes. As if that didn’t unsettle her enough, she slowly moved her eyes down his body to see that in his right hand, he had a fire axe.  
            The moment she saw it—as he did, seeing through her eyes—Adam was awoken by the alarm clock next to his head. Half-blind, he reached out and slapped it a few times until he happened to hit the snooze button. But the alarm didn’t stop, and it took him a second to realize that it wasn’t the alarm at all; it was the ringtone of his cellphone, which was lying on the table beside the clock. Then he wasn’t sure how he’d mistaken it for the alarm at all, since it was his iPhone’s default ringtone (titled “Marimba”), and it sounded nothing like his alarm clock. Only then did he realize that the ringtone meant someone was calling him, and he grabbed the phone. The screen showed that it was Jesse calling, so he answered the call and brought the phone to his ear.  
            “Hello?”  
            “Hey there, buddy!” Even this early in the morning, Jesse’s voice still boomed with enthusiasm. But how early was it? Rubbing the sleep out of his left eye, he used his right to look at the clock and saw that it was half past eleven.  
            “Oh, shit. Am I late for work?” he asked.  
            “It’s Sunday, dumbass,” teased Jesse. “We don’t work on Sundays, remember?”  
            Adam didn’t say anything, because he had been fairly certain that it had been Friday yesterday. Then he remembered that he hadn’t slept on Friday, and that yesterday had therefore been Saturday. But even so, he was still somewhat confused on what date it actually was. “It’s Sunday?”  
            “No, it’s Zorgday the 67th in the great, never-ending month of Glorp. Of course it’s Sunday.”  
            “Ah, Glorp,” remarked Adam, “my favorite month.”  
            “Because it’s the _only_ month.” Jesse then changed the subject with no segue, which wasn’t uncommon. “I’m going grocery shopping. You wanna come with?”  
            Adam glanced over at the other side of the bed. Larisa wasn’t there, but he felt comfortable in assuming that she had been until eight. She still had to go to work on Sundays. It was somewhat unusual, but the day of the week that she got off was Wednesday.  
            “Adam?”  
            “Yeah, sure. Why not.”  
            “Good, ‘cause I’m already at your house.” To further prove this, Jesse honked his car’s horn. Adam could hear the sound not just through the phone, but also faintly from outside.  
            “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”  
            “It’s chilly,” warned Jesse. “And raining. Which is a damn shame, because it was so nice yesterday.”  
            “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”  
            “Yeah.”  
            Adam waited a second before hanging up. The first thing he put on was a pair of socks. Then, jeans, and then a black t-shirt. With his cellphone in his front right pant pocket, he left the bedroom and headed downstairs, to the first floor. In front of the door, he put on a pair of brown work boots. He heeded Jesse’s warning and, somewhat reluctantly, threw on a black leather jacket.  
            When he stepped out into the rain, he saw Jesse’s car in the driveway. As he approached, his friend’s head poked out of the driver side window.  
            “I thought you’d died,” he joked. In a voice mocking an old woman, he proceeded to croak: “ _It’s been eighty-four years . . ._ ”  
            Quiet but amused, Adam shook his head. He got into the passenger seat and strapped himself in without a word. Then, without warning, he said, “You’re an idiot.”  
            Jesse got a kick out of his remark, and he laughed at it as Adam smirked.  
            For the first two minutes of the drive, both men were quiet—Adam lost in thought, and Jesse waiting for Adam to stop looking so serious before saying anything himself. The silence that hung between them wasn’t awkward, though. Through it, Jesse amused himself by whistling the theme of _Mission Impossible_.  
            Finally, Adam consciously glanced over at something—the rearview mirror. Or rather, the plastic rosary wrapped around its base and the dangling cross that was attached to its end.  
            “Like it?” asked Jesse.  
            “You aren’t religious,” Adam pointed out.  
            “I know, but I saw someone who had a rosary tied around _their_ rearview mirror like this, and I got inspired.”  
            “Why?”  
            Jesse shrugged. “I don’t have to be religious to have a tiny crucified Jesus hanging around in my car, do I?” He flicked the cross. As it swung back and forth, Adam finally noticed the small, metal figure of Jesus Christ “nailed” to it. “There’s something comical about it,” concluded his friend.  
            “Comical? Some might argue that keeping an image of Christ in your car to flick for amusement borders on _sacrilegious_.”  
            “Well, you know.” Unfazed, Jesse flicked Jesus again and giggled. Meanwhile, Adam wondered when his friend became such a child. _Oh, wait_ , he realized, _he’s never_ not _been a child._ Then he felt silly for having thought of Jesse as anything _but_ childish.  
            The grocery store that they shopped at was past the train tracks that ran across South Wallace Street. Adam had always wanted to shop somewhere closer, but there was no point; the prices at this particular store were better than anywhere else in the city. But today, as Jesse’s car neared the tracks, Adam furrowed his brow. Something in the back of his mind was trying to come back to him. Something about trains. What was it?  
            He didn’t have very long to puzzle over this, as Jesse reached down, plugged his phone into the dashboard, and picked a song to play. Right as the car rocked over the tracks, the chorus of “Cherry Pie” by Warrant started.  
            “ _She’s my cherry pie,_ ” Jesse hollered, headbanging slowly but rhythmically to the beat. “ _Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise! Tastes so good, make a grown man cry; sweet cherry pie!_ ”  
            “How haven’t we died in a car wreck?” Adam asked in rhetoric over Jesse’s singing. He caught a glimpse, to his right, of the row of pale wooden power poles that seemed to continue forever, but were obscured down the line by trees. “You always do this. You’re not even watching the road.”  
            “— _Looks so good, bring a tear to your eye; sweet cherry pie!_ ”

* * *

They had been shopping for ten minutes when Jesse noticed the ATM machine at the back of the store. His face lit up in sudden realization, and he handed his basket to Adam, in a hurry all of a sudden.  
            “I just remembered,” he began, “I have to withdraw some cash. Watch my shit, all right?”  
            “Yeah, sure,” Adam agreed, despite his slight confusion. He watched Jesse rush to the machine before deciding to wait where he was. When he looked around—at the fruit stand behind him—he noticed the stray apple that sat between the bananas. Were he Jesse, he realized, he might have come up with some sort of immature remark about it. Instead, he snarked at the relatable dilemma of wanting to return something but not wanting to be caught doing so. Figuring that he had nothing better to do, he pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the apple, and posted it to Twitter with the caption “Just one of those days.” He only wished that he was quick-witted enough to come up with something funnier.  
            Jesse cursed at the machine, removed his card, and then reinserted it. While Adam wondered what his friend could possibly be screwing up about something as simple as using an ATM, he skimmed through his Twitter feed. Then, he got a comment on his apple-banana picture. A pang of anxiety washed over him, relieved only slightly when he noticed that it was a comment from Evangeline.  
            “OMG!” her comment read. “I did that!!” Again, she used the heart-eyed emoji.  
            _Really?_ Surprised, Adam glanced at the apple as if it had an answer for him. What were the odds that he shopped at the same grocery store as her? It was convenient enough that they both supposedly lived in Chicago . . .  
            When he looked back at the screen, he saw that Evangeline had sent him a direct message. “Are you there now? I just left half an hour ago!”  
            For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to respond. But then he thought, _what’s the harm?_ “Did you really put the apple there? – Adam”.  
            “I do it all the time to bother the stockers. I’m so happy that you saw it!”  
            She did it all the time? Adam looked again at the apple—had he just never noticed it before?  
            “If you’re still there now, I’ll go back!” she insisted. “I want to meet you!” Grinning emoji.  
            Suddenly, Adam felt nervous. “I’ve left already,” he lied. In replying so quickly, he forgot to add his signature, but by the time he realized that he’d forgotten it, it was too late to add it.  
            “Did you? Aww.” Disappointed emoji.  
            He didn’t like being so brusque with a fan, but something about Evangeline’s enthusiasm made him feel uncomfortable. He stood up straight and tried to shake his bad feeling off. She was a 19-year-old girl—him, a 34-year-old man. Why was he so afraid of her?  
            Jesse finally returned, slipping his wallet into his coat pocket. He reached out for his basket and grumbled, “It didn’t recognize my card the first two times. Can you believe it?”  
            Adam smiled, rolled his eyes, and handed Jesse’s basket back to him.

* * *

On the way back to Adam’s house, the men chatted over the sound of “Pour Some Sugar On Me” by Def Leppard. Rather than sing along, Jesse reminisced about past events.  
            “Do you remember that time I bet that I could beat”—he laughed—“Eric _Dane_ in an _arm wrestle_?”  
            Adam thought about the question and remembered what Jesse was talking about. It had been back in 2013, at a party held by one of Jesse’s friends: Tylor Sherman. Adam didn’t know Tylor very well, nor did he frequent parties, but Jesse had insisted on his presence. As everyone else got drunk, he’d stood by one of the walls with a red Solo cup in one hand and the other in his pocket. Tylor had left halfway through the party—his own—with some guy that Adam knew even less. He hadn’t been able to think anything of it other than that they had probably made the getaway to have sex somewhere.  
            Only half an hour later, Jesse had drunkenly bet that he could beat another person at the party, Eric Dane, in an arm wrestle. Eric was at least seven feet tall, and he was an aspiring bodybuilder. Needless to say, he was ripped from head to toe, at least when compared to someone as scrawny as Jesse. As Jesse boasted that he “was awesome” and that Eric Dane “wasn’t shit”, Adam’s glance had shifted from one to the other at least forty times. He was an acquaintance of Eric’s, and a friendly one at that. But while part of him wanted to tell Eric to at least go easy on Jesse, the rest of him, morbidly curious, wanted to see what would happen if he didn’t.  
            “I remember that he broke your arm,” Adam answered, “and that I had to drive you to the hospital.”  
            “Man, I’m a moron when I’m drunk!”  
            “You’re _always_ a moron, Jess.”  
            “Touché. But you didn’t even try to stop me!”  
            Adam shrugged. “Well, you sounded pretty confident.”  
            Jesse scoffed in amusement and blindly punched Adam’s shoulder. “Dick.”  
            As they approached the train tracks again, Adam’s smile slipped away. Again, he felt like there was something that he wanted to remember, but this time it was more clear a feeling. When the front tires bumped over both sides of the tracks, he saw everything: the subway train, the woman, the two men, the gun in the purse, and the axe. When the back tires completed the same journey, he shot back in his seat with a low gasp.  
            Jesse, startled by the sharp movement and the noise, looked at him. “Hey, you okay?”  
            “I think I just had an idea for a video,” answered Adam.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 1 (September 17th, 2017): Slight formatting fixes.  
> Posted on September 5th, 2017.

By the time Adam heard the front door open downstairs—probably Larisa, meaning it had to be around 10:00 PM—he was a quarter of the way through storyboarding a new video. The premise he’d gone with in interpreting his dream was that the woman was the representation of sanity. The man with the axe was a traumatic event, and the man sitting beside her was the representation of madness—so close, sitting beside her, but so far, knowing the answers to her questions but being unable to give them. The gun was her only source of hope, the only string holding her to her sanity. With it and its one bullet, she could choose only one option: either embrace the trauma, or embrace insanity.  
            Though he was almost half done with the storyboarding, he still didn’t know what she was going to choose. He felt that if she chose insanity, it would be insulting somehow. But if she chose to embrace the trauma, that was too boring. Whatever the outcome he chose, he had the concept, and it was one that he could work with. He was satisfied either way. It would be a project that he would work on over the next week or so, taking his time to see how the events panned out on their own.  
            After he finished the last, rough-sketched frame of the woman (who he decided to refer to as “Sanity” for ease) turning her head in horror at the sight of the masked man (“Trauma”) and his fire axe, he set down his tablet’s pen and leaned back in his chair to stretch. Most of the day’s work had gone into figuring out his interpretation, and how he would even execute it. This video was more story-driven than his older ones. He had wondered if he should try making a script for it first, but then, deciding that there would be no actual dialogue in the video, decided against it. He just hoped that he wouldn’t alienate his viewers with the final product. It was so unlike anything he’d done in the past, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.  
            At the moment, all of the characters were nude, hairless figures with faces. He hadn’t decided on any actual designs for them yet, other than the fact that Trauma had a burlap sack over his face. But even that detail was one that he questioned. Perhaps the burlap sack mask concept was overused?  
            He heard his wife climbing the stairs and turned his chair around, still leaning back in it. There were two gentle knocks on the door: Larisa making sure to be quiet in the instance that he was asleep. To let her know that he wasn’t, he called out, “Come in.”  
            When Larisa’s head poked into the room, he grinned at her. It took her a second to realize why, and she looked at the screen, pleasantly, but hardly, surprised. Finally, she stepped further into his office.  
            “Oh, you got an idea?” she asked with a smile.  
            “It came to me in a dream,” he admitted, shrugging.  
            Her smile turned coy, and then she sat down on his lap and snuggled against him. “Tell me what it’s about.”  
            “Are you sure?” Adam laughed. “You usually think my video concepts are disturbing, and believe me, this won’t be an exception.”  
            Smirking now, she looked up at him and scratched at his beard with the long, manicured nail of her index finger. “They’re strange, but always fascinating,” she crooned. “Strangely fascinating.” Then, she kissed his cheek.  
            After pausing for a moment, considering this, he shook his head. “I think I’ll save it,” he said. “Leave it to be a surprise.”  
            “When I got home last night, you were asleep,” she told him suddenly through a pout.  
            “Yeah?”  
            “Not that I’m not glad that you slept. But I wasn’t gone _that_ long.” She reached up and tapped his nose, as if flirtatiously scolding him. “And you said that you were going to _work_.”  
            It finally struck Adam, what Larisa was trying to build up to. He had to take it in and process it: the fact that she was again trying to seduce him. Had she learned nothing about him? But did he really want to push her away again? He was in a good mood for once.  
            _But she’s cheating on me._  
            He wasn’t surprised to discover that this thought did little to sway his decision. He should’ve cared. He should’ve been angry, or at the very least, he should’ve wanted to confront her about it. But there was another thought, in the back of his head, that stopped him from doing anything about it.  
            _What if I’m_ wrong _?_  
            Maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe she really _did_ have to go back to work. Maybe she arranged meetings to do work with a co-worker, with her boss, with _someone_ , but _not_ to have sex with them.  
            _Don’t be stupid, Adam._  
            As he dwelled on this, Larisa didn’t seem to notice the conflict in his eyes. She continued to beam at him, coy and flirtatious, wanting him regardless. Should he love her for that? That even if she _was_ having an affair, that she still wanted _him_?  
            “Larisa . . .”  
            “Ssh.” She moved in and kissed him on the lips once, just a small peck. When she pulled back, she gazed deep into his eyes, her own moving back and forth as if searching his for something. “I love you, Adam,” she told him. She sounded honest—sin _cere_.  
            It took Adam a few seconds to get his bearings. “I love you, too,” he said. He couldn’t help but feel like his response sounded forced, but if it did, she didn’t care.  
            Her hand ran itself along his face and caressed his cheek. “You’re still just as handsome as the day I married you,” she remarked with a light giggle. Her voice was ever-so-slightly deeper than usual, he noticed, and he recognized it as a sign of arousal.  
            _Is_ my _voice deeper? Are my pupils dilated? Is my body language open? Am I showing her any signs of arousal at_ all _?_  
            There had to be a reason that she kept coming back to him. Was it only because she found him attractive?  
            _Me, attractive? “Handsome”? Does she see the same man that I see when I look in the mirror?_  
            She stroked the side of his head, and then she kissed him again, deeper this time. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to accept her or push her away. So he did nothing. Taking this as consent, she wrapped her arms around him and leaned into him, pushing him back further in his chair and causing it to creak. But when he continued to show no reaction, she pulled back, worried.  
            “Are you all right?” she asked.  
            He stared at her for a moment, dumb. Then, he blinked himself back to reality. “Yeah,” he assured.  
            “Really?”  
            “Yeah.” Finally having made a decision, he returned her affection by kissing her. Both eager and pleased, she kissed him back. They made their way from Adam’s office to the bedroom, and all the while, he wondered if this was what he truly wanted. But what else was there? She was his wife. He couldn’t neglect her forever, and if she _was_ cheating on him, it was only because he hadn’t given her what she needed. He was to blame, and _if_ anything was going on behind his back, then perhaps he could put a stop to it by making love to her himself.  
            The rest of the night was awkward for Adam, but not unpleasant. He enjoyed what he did with Larisa, but even though she showed no signs of this being the case, he always felt like he was doing everything wrong—like he was messing it all up. He couldn’t stop himself from feeling selfish. Surely, he could pleasure _her_ more than he pleasured himself, but whenever he tried to focus on her and her alone, she somehow seemed to enjoy it less. Or was it just that he didn’t understand how she expressed enjoyment?  
            Whatever the case, whenever he had sex with Larisa, he always found himself either distracted or guilt-ridden. That night was no exception. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy making love to her, or that he didn’t find her attractive, he just felt . . . _detached_ from her. He loved her, he really did. But somehow, having sex with her felt less like having sex with a human than it did having sex with an enigmatic blowup doll. She seemed to enjoy it, but afterward, would never say anything about it. Not even a meek “That was great.” Not even a “That was _okay_.” Not a complaint nor a compliment escaped her lips after he made love to her. She never screamed or moaned during, either, only ever gasped and, even rarer, groaned in either pain or pleasure—it was impossible for him to tell which.  
            So, he assumed that she enjoyed it. Why else would she so eagerly flirt with him? But he had no real _sign_ that she enjoyed it, and she wasn’t going to give him one. He felt like, if he had to ask, that would prove to her once and for all that he was incompetent in bed, and despite everything, he didn’t want her to think that.  
            The following morning, Adam was awoken by his alarm clock, set for seven to give Larisa time to shower and prepare for work. He hit the snooze button and was going to wake her, but then he felt her hand slink up to his chest. When he looked down at it, her head moved closer and laid against his right breast. She smiled up at him tiredly with her face almost makeup-less; what little was left of what she’d put on the day prior had smudged sometime during the night.  
            “Good morning,” she croaked in a sing-song way.  
            Feeling romantic, either because of the sex or because he had just woken up, he gazed at her for a moment before telling her, “You’re so beautiful.”  
            With her mouth closed into a smirk, she laughed twice in the back of her throat before moving up to peck him on the lips. He returned the gesture happily, well aware that in a few minutes he would be unable to express his love in such a carefree way. She tapped his nose again, and then she got up and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. He decided to stay in bed for a few minutes. When he heard the shower start, he decided to get up. From the floor, he picked up his jeans and his briefs. First he pulled on his briefs, then he stood up and tugged on his jeans, and—  
            “Hello?”  
            He stopped moving, frozen in place, with his hands on his jeans. It took him a second to turn his head to the doorway, and another to realize that he hadn’t imagined the sound of Larisa’s voice, barely audible under the sound of the shower. He could hear mumbling, but couldn’t make out any words, so he neglected zipping or buttoning his jeans and crept to the bathroom door. He stood beside it and listened hard.  
            “Sorry for not calling you last night,” she muttered to whoever she had called. “I know we had plans, but something”—she paused—“came up.” After a few seconds, a reply that Adam couldn’t hear: “Yeah, he and I . . .” She trailed off mid-sentence. Another pause. “Well, I mean, he’s good”—she paused once more. Then, in a lower voice that Adam could hardly make out, as if she’d been asked _how_ good, she answered, “Not as good as you.”  
            Adam tensed up. For a long moment, he zoned out, unable to focus on anything else she said. He hadn’t done anything; she’d gone back to the man she was having an affair with. And after he’d finally given her what she wanted . . . That _was_ what she wanted, wasn’t it?  
            All of a sudden, he was angry. But rather than act, he decided to determine _why_ he was angry. He hadn’t cared when he first determined that she was cheating. He hadn’t even cared the first time he’s caught her calling someone like this, behind his back. Was it because he finally had proof that she was seeing someone else? Or was it because she’d admitted that her mystery man was better than him?  
            He raised his hand to knock on the door, to let her know that he had heard her, but he stopped himself. Instead, defeated and hurt, he shook his head and walked into his office. He sat down at his chair and tried to act like everything was fine. He opened his video’s project file, and picked up his tablet’s pen, but couldn’t bear to draw anything.  
            _All right, no drawing, then_ , he decided. So, he checked Twitter instead. A few of his other fans had liked the apple-banana tweet, but the only substantial thing to be found there was another direct message from Evangeline. It had been sent at midnight.  
            “Hiya! I’m about to go to bed, but I was just wondering if you’re already working on something new? I have a lot of ideas if you need any! If you are working on something, I’m sure it’s going to be great! I’m super eager!! Love you!”  
            He stared at the message, but didn’t really understand it. He typed a reply: “I’m already working on something. – Adam”, but decided that he wasn’t in the mood to send it. Holding down the backspace key, he watched each letter get wiped away. And then, he placed his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands.  
            Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he’d misheard Larisa, or imagined the entire thing. The shower had been really loud. Maybe she wasn’t even talking about _him_. Maybe she was talking to her boss.  
            _Don’t be_ stupid _, Adam!_  
            He shook his head at himself and let out a heavy exhale through his nose. The damage was done. He knew what he’d heard, and knew that he wasn’t mistaken. She was cheating on him. But he already knew that. What hurt, he supposed, was that she liked the other man _more_. That she could go to someone else so _freely_ , as if she truly had no feelings left for him at all. He still loved her, but did she love him? Lamenting, but at the same time thinking nothing, he stayed like this—sitting shirtless in his office, cradling his head in his palms—for a long time.  
            When Larisa came in at 7:30 to check on him, she asked if he was all right, and he told her that he had a headache. Then, she came closer and had the gall to kiss him on the cheek and the forehead before she left. If his pride had been damaged any further, he felt he might have started crying right there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit (September 17th, 2017): Slight formatting fixes.  
> Posted on September 7th, 2017.

Adam’s commute to Waller’s Pawn Shop wasn’t very far, but somehow it still managed to take him past four and a half churches. The first was the Trinity United Church of Christ, a huge brown building. However, this wasn’t the _actual_ Trinity United Church of Christ; from what he had heard, this seemed to be some sort of day-care variant. On the next street over was the Bibleway Church of Chicago, a tiny apartment-sized building and part of an otherwise vacant one-storey “duplex” setup. Then again, he wasn’t sure if it was actually a church, though. It seemed more like a book club for people who liked to read and discuss the Bible. So, he didn’t count it, but because it had “Church” in its name, he considered it as a half.  
            Right behind the Bibleway was the second actual church he passed: West 95 Oakdale Missionary. This one was a red brick building, about the size of a house. The one time he’d decided to go out of his way to look at it, he’d seen a sign on it with the words, in all capital letters, “CHURCH SERVICES”. It was a small church, but a church nonetheless.  
            The third church, again on the next street over, was the St. Matthew-Gordon A.M.E. Zion Church, a Methodist establishment of some sort. On the corner of the street leading up to it, there was a billboard that hadn’t changed as long as he’d seen it that read “Our produce prices make competitors GREEN with envy!” It had been funny at first, but his contempt for it grew every time he saw it. He also walked past a place called the “ABC Learning Center”, which scared him to no end because he was fairly certain that at least part of its logo (maybe the e-mail address written on it) had been typed in Comic Sans.  
            Just before the double train tracks that he had to pass to get to the pawn shop was the _actual_ Trinity United Church of Christ. This Trinity was huge, much more so than the other one, and beige instead of brown. In front of it was a billboard that had an advertisement for McDonalds on it, and for some reason he still found this one funny, even though it never should’ve been funny to begin with.  
            On the other side of the tracks was Waller’s Pawn Shop . . . which was squashed between an unpurchased building and an establishment titled “The Universal Church”.  
            He had never known why the Washington Heights and Roseland areas of Chicago seemed to have so many churches densely packed into it. He also knew that he never would know, though, so it was a fact that he quietly accepted most of the time. But today, as he walked past Oakdale Missionary in the pouring rain, the churches seemed to be mocking him. To him, an unreligious man, one of the few things that churches represented to him was marriage, and the sanctity of the vows involved. Now, his wife was cheating on him. Those vows were broken, and he couldn’t bring himself to confront her about it. He hated how many churches he had to walk past. Why were there so many churches?  
            _But why should the churches bother_ me _?_ I’m _not the one cheating on my spouse!_  
            He shook his head at nothing. There was no reasoning with himself. He would feel guilty in the presence of the churches regardless of anything his rationality suggested, whether it was correct or not.  
            When he opened the door to the pawn shop, he was at least relieved that Jesse wasn’t blaring music this time. That meant that he didn’t have to punch him in the face. Instead, he was sitting at his computer, and when he door opened, he looked past the screen. Upon realizing that it was Adam, he smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but held his tongue when he noticed the sullen look on his face. He watched his friend start dragging himself toward the bathroom, and didn’t say anything until he was almost at the door.  
            “Hey, is everything all right?” he asked. “You don’t look so hot.”  
            Adam struggled to compose himself, and somehow was able to manage a small smile back at Jesse. Then, he hummed indecisively and shrugged. Instead of giving Jesse the chance to respond, he hurried into the bathroom and locked the door behind himself.  
            At the sink, he splashed cold water over his face. It caused him to flinch and attempt to shake the water off. Now more alert, he looked at his reflection. His suffering was all in his head, he convinced himself. If he could detach himself from that part of his mind and pretend that it didn’t exist, then maybe he could seem fine. He could trick himself into ignoring Larisa’s affair. That way, nothing would need to change, and he wouldn’t risk losing anyone by pushing them away.  
            _She’ll stay with me if she thinks I don’t know. I can’t tell anyone that I do._  
            So, he forced the misery off of his face. His neutral expression stared back at him in his reflection, and he studied it. It made him look tired and serious, but that was how he always looked, so it would cause no concern to anyone. It was only after he changed into his work shirt that he found himself wondering why he didn’t want to lose Larisa.  
            _Haven’t I already lost her? She’s sleeping with another man._  
            But he loved her, and she loved him.  
            _If she loved me, would she really be able to cheat on me?_  
            He’d come back full circle into the argument he’d had with himself that morning. Realizing this, he let out a low groan and rinsed his face with cold water again.  
            After he stepped out of the bathroom, having neglected to slick back his hair this time, Jesse looked at him again. His friend didn’t seem any less concerned at the discovery that he no longer looked miserable.  
            _Probably because he knows that I hide my feelings most of the time._  
            He sat down beside Jesse, as usual, but paid no attention to his staring. Twenty seconds of awkward silence and stillness passed.  
            “You know you don’t fool me,” Jesse pointed out.  
            “I know,” admitted Adam, “but I can fool others.”  
            “What’s the matter?”  
            For a long moment, Adam had to consider whether he wanted to tell Jesse the truth. On one hand, he might be able to provide him some comfort or reassurance. On the other, if he felt that Adam was being silly, he might share the confession with Larisa, for “laughs”. So, instead of speaking, he only shook his head.  
            Jesse sighed, defeated, knowing that there would be no admittance of any problem on Adam’s end. He knew that his friend hated being a burden, and also that he seemed to hate even more relying on others for emotional comfort. He couldn’t open himself up to people—a fear of being vulnerable. Aware of this, he didn’t press the issue further, and Adam, well aware that this was his reasoning, appreciated it.  
            The skinny man turned to his computer, again examining his Facebook feed. “So,” he started, “no progress on any videos, then?”  
            Adam glanced at him and took a beat to consider what to say. “Actually, I’m working on one now.”  
            “Oh, really? Because of the train tracks, right?”  
            Adam nodded. He didn’t feel like talking.  
            “What’s it about? Trains?”  
            “Sort of,” Adam mumbled.  
            “Well, I’m glad you’re getting back into the swing of things.” Then, there was another awkward lull in the conversation. Once it had dragged on for a full minute, Adam looked over at Jesse. The taller man was scrolling down his feed, but wasn’t reacting to any of the posts. His facial expression was betraying the calmness he was otherwise trying (and failing) to express.  
            “Is everything all right with _you_?” Adam asked when he finally found the will to speak.  
            “Hmm?” Jesse turned his head, making eye contact with Adam. Too apathetic to care, Adam held the gaze.  
            “You seem nervous.”  
            “Nervous?” Jesse tittered. “No, I’m . . .” Then, he frowned and sighed, turning his eyes down to the floor. He thought for a moment, and then confessed, “It’s, uh . . . It’s my dad. He’s . . . sick.”  
            Adam narrowed his eyes. He wanted to feel bad for Jesse, and to offer him comfort. But for some reason, his gut was telling him that he was being lied to.  
            “That’s terrible,” he droned, still staring at his friend the same way he’d been when their eyes had met. “With what?”  
            “That’s just it, I don’t know. He’s, uh, at the hospital today, getting himself checked out.”  
            “Oh. Well, let me know what comes of that.”  
            “Sure, if he lets _me_ know.” Jesse shook his head, exasperated, before returning to his Facebook feed. He still seemed sort of off, but he appeared more than content to change the subject and act like nothing was bothering him.  
            The phone rang, and for a few seconds, neither of them reacted. But then, Jesse snapped out of whatever trance he’d been in and picked up the phone.  
            “Hello, Waller’s Pawn Shop,” he began in a cheery tone. “This is Jesse; how can I help you today?” As he listened to the customer on the other line, he saw Adam in his peripheral vision, still staring at him. He raised a brow and shrugged, then mouthed “What?”  
            Adam realized that he hadn’t moved at all in too long and shook his head before turning on the stool he sat on and gazing forward.  
            “What was that? Oh, camcorders? Yes, we’ve got quite a few of those.” Jesse paced over to the display cases that contained the electronics, a bit deeper into the store. “Were you looking for a specific brand?”  
            Adam’s phone dinged with a new notification. He had to force himself to look at it by convincing himself that it might be a text from Larisa. Instead, it was another direct message on Twitter, from none other than Evangeline. Though he didn’t want to check it, curiosity got the better of him. With a deep sigh, he tapped the notification.  
            “Adam,” her message began, “I know you must be busy, but I need some advice. You’re the only person I have to turn to for this. I’m feeling pretty down about it.” She concluded the message with a frowning emoji.  
            He sighed and glanced over at Jesse. The skinny man was still engrossed in the phone call, so he decided to answer Evangeline.  
            “Advice about what? – Adam”.  
            The ellipses bubble showed up, indicating that she was typing a response. As he waited, he looked again at Jesse, who was still looking through the camcorders.  
            “Sorry, no, we don’t have any Sony,” he was saying. “But may I recommend a Samsung? Yes, Samsung. Yeah, they make camcorders, too.”  
            He looked back at his phone. Evangeline had finally finished her message.  
            “Well, I like to draw, I guess. But people don’t like my art. My latest drawing in particular has been getting a lot of negative criticism, and I’m not sure if I want to keep doing art. It’s pretty rough, since I worked really hard, and I was proud of it. If people don’t like it, though . . . I mean, should I stop?”  
            Of course, being an artist himself, Adam could relate to Evangeline’s plight. When he had first started working on surreal art in high school, he had received almost nothing _but_ negative criticism. His art teacher hadn’t been able to find the artistic value in anything that he did, and his peers liked to mock the deep meanings he gave his pieces. So, moved back into some degree of emotion by the relation, he told her his honest opinion.  
            “Whatever you do is your decision, Evangeline, but I encourage you to reconsider if you do decide to give up. I was in the same boat as you a long time ago, but I’m not going to lie to you and say that the negativity will stop at some point. Being an artist is difficult. Everyone has their own opinions about what makes ‘good art’, and because of that, you will always feel vulnerable. But if you enjoy making art, please don’t stop. While there will always be people who don’t like your work, there will also be people who love your work.  
            “For example, I have fans like you, don’t I? I wouldn’t if I had given up after I got negative criticism. My advice to you is, instead of giving up, try to make something positive of the criticism. I know it’ll be hard, but try to ask them what they didn’t like, and why. I find that the harshest criticism is often the most honest, and if you use it correctly, it can be a great tool to help you improve. – Adam”.  
            He read over the long message a few times, worrying that he might have said something wrong. But then, he scolded himself.  
            _Don’t overthink it. Just send it._  
            So, he tapped the Send button, and the message appeared as a long blue bubble in the conversation. There was a delay, Evangeline taking in every word of the message, before she began a response. But, he cut her off with another message of his own.  
            “May I see the piece that you’re worried about? – Adam”.  
            “Oh, I don’t know . . .”  
            “If you’re not comfortable sharing it with me, that’s fine. I’m just curious. – Adam”.  
            “Well, I did make it for you, so . . . I guess . . .”  
            He raised a brow. Then, she sent the picture, and for a long moment, he stared at it, unsure of how to react.  
            It was a portrait of him, done in colored pencil. It was clearly done from eye, using one of his pictures on Twitter as a reference, but there were some stylized changes; different eyes with somewhat bolder lashes, for example. He brought his hand up to his mouth as he took in the drawing. Taken as a photo off of her phone, the quality wasn’t the best, but the lowered quality somehow gave it a more oil painting-esque look, and he loved it. He was touched; no one had ever drawn _him_ before.  
            On the left side of the drawing, in orange and red, she had written “ _Adam Keir_ ”. The dot above the “i” in his surname was drawn instead as a heart. There was a signature under his name, done in elegant, curly letters. It was hard to make out, but he was able to figure out what it said: “ _~ Eve_ ”.  
            _Eve? As in . . . Adam and Eve?_  
            The biblical allusion was not lost on him, but he couldn’t decide if it was intentional or not, so he decided not to comment on it. Still, somehow, it put a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, though it did little to sour his reception of the drawing.  
            “What do you think? You don’t hate it, do you?” Evangeline fretted. “Everyone says that my style makes it look weird, and that the proportions are off, and that it’s not realistic enough . . . I feel like I didn’t do you justice, and I hope I didn’t offend you with it. I just wanted to draw you, because I think you’re really handsome, and I got inspired. I’m sorry if it’s weird!” She used the “folded hands” emoji to represent her praying for forgiveness.  
            “Don’t be,” he told her, “I love it. Your art style is gorgeous. – Adam”.  
            “You really think so?” Smiling face emoji.  
            “Of course. The way you use pencil crayons is lovely, as is the shading. Don’t let the criticism bring you down; you’ve got talent, Evangeline. – Adam”. He meant every word, and not just because the drawing was of him. He admired the light shading she had done, and almost envied her apparent knack for traditional art. He’d never been very good at coloring on paper.  
            “Oh, thank you so much! It’s nowhere near as nice as your art, but I like how it came out. I’m so happy that you like it, too!”  
            “I think it’s much better than my art,” he told her.  
            “Aww, thank you! That’s so sweet!” Love point emoji.  
            “Got it,” Jesse said to the customer on the phone. “Sounds good. All right, see you then.” He hung up.  
            “Are we finally selling one of those camcorders?” asked Adam. “They’ve been sitting there forever.”  
            “Yep, if she likes what she sees.”  
            “Do any of them even work? We haven’t tested them since we got them.”  
            “Oh, I’m sure they do,” Jesse said, but he didn’t look as certain as he sounded. “I wouldn’t, uh, worry about it.”  
            Adam put his head in his hand and shook it with another deep sigh. It was going to be a long day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on September 17th, 2017.

There was a squirrel sitting on a tree that Adam could see from a window in his office. The way it sat perplexed him and filled him with an undefined tension: it remained completely still. Not even its tail twitched. It sat at an awkward angle, one that should’ve caused it to tip backward and fall out of the tree. Yet, somehow, there it remained, sitting at a 60 degree angle, not moving so much as an inch. He’d never seen a squirrel so still. They usually scurried quickly out of sight. But this one just kept sitting there.  
            He must have been standing in front of the window watching it for an hour, because he’d caught sight of it at around 7:30 that morning, and now Larisa was knocking on his office’s door to check in on him. It was Wednesday, her day off. On Wednesdays, she always woke up at 8:00 and checked on him at 8:30, after showering. Thus, he felt safe in assuming that he’d been staring out of the window for at least an hour.  
            When Larisa got no answer, she decided to stick her head in anyway, and he imagined that it alarmed her to see him standing so close to the door, engrossed in the tree outside. He heard her step closer, and there was a long moment of silence before she finally spoke.  
            “Honey? What are you looking at?”  
            “Look,” he said, and pointed at the squirrel. “You see that?”  
            “See what?”  
            “That squirrel.”  
            Judging by the silence, he imagined that she had furrowed her brows in confusion. Then, she told him, “Um, I don’t see any squirrel.”  
            “It’s at a weird angle,” he commented, not taking in her words. Perplexed still, he scratched at his beard and hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t even think that’s physically possible, the way it’s sitting . . .”  
            “Well . . . I mean . . . It’s a squirrel. Squirrels . . . do that.”  
            “But it’s not moving. At all. Like, ‘I’m starting to think it might be dead or something’ degree of ‘not moving’.”  
            He heard Larisa throw her hands up in exasperation. “This is the man I married,” she hissed at herself. “I married a man who worries about a _squirrel_ because it’s not moving. _This_ is the man I chose to have in my life.”  
            Adam finally turned his head, but only to glare at her. “Yeah,” he said, embittered, “ _I’m_ the man you married.”  
            Larisa stared at him, eyes wide. She retained eye contact with him, but was clearly taken aback by his tone. Then, she averted her eyes from him and couldn’t manage to look at him again as she affirmed, “Yes, you are. I wasn’t complaining or anything.” She wrung her hands.  
            Adam said nothing. He turned back to the window to see the squirrel again, but it was gone. Its sudden disappearance somehow disturbed him more than its unusual stillness seconds beforehand.  
            “Listen,” Larisa began, “you didn’t go to work yesterday. Considering you’re half an hour late, I assume you’re not going today, either?”  
            “No,” Adam answered. Instead of looking at her again, he pressed himself closer to the window and tried to figure out where the squirrel had run off to. “I already called Jesse and told him that I’m staying home again to keep working on the video.”  
            “Good.” She still sounded a bit unnerved by his strange behavior. “Um, I need you to go to the store for me today. I’d do it, but I have some work to finish on my laptop . . .”  
            “Sure,” he told her, though his tone was anything but pleasant. “What do you need me to get?”  
            There was another pause, but he couldn’t tell if it was because she was staring at him or if she was thinking. He got his answer when she asked, “What on _Earth_ are you doing?”  
            “The squirrel,” he reminded her.  
            “There is no”—she cut herself off with a huff before getting back on topic. “I need eggs, sugar, coffee—”  
            “You know what? Write it down for me. I won’t remember anything you’re saying.”  
            “Because you’re too preoccupied with a non-existent squirrel,” he heard her say under her breath. “Fine. I’ll go write a list.” She stepped closer and kissed him on the cheek, and after doing so, noticed his hard frown. Meek, she mumbled, “I, uh, love you.” Then, she left his office.  
            He heard her go downstairs a few minutes later, but he didn’t pay much attention to her. Instead, he continued searching for the evanesced squirrel.

* * *

The video was going well, but still he didn’t know how to end it. So, in the meantime, he decided to work on the design of the characters.  
            Trauma’s burlap sack had stayed. Big and bulky in body shape, he wore only a pale blue hospital smock. In truth, his attire was designed to be a red herring, to lure people into thinking that he was a representation of illness.  
            Madness was slender and pale. His hair, neck-length and parted to the left, was black, and he was clean-shaven. His attire was comprised of an expensive, tailed black suit. It was very Hollywood-esque, with an off-white scarf draped over the shoulders and a black silk bowtie, topped off with black leather dress shoes. Adam wasn’t sure why he’d wanted to make Madness look like a rich man, though he must’ve had a reason deep down.  
            He based Sanity’s appearance off of Larisa. Like his wife, her hair was brown, but done up in a low ponytail that reached her back. She wore a pale brown jacket buttoned over her left breast. It had a high collar, medium-length sleeves, and a belt tightening it around her waistline. She also wore a long, tight, matching skirt. Mid-forearm length white gloves graced her hands. Her shoes were cinnamon brown high-heeled loafers, accented by full-length white stockings.  
            Though he had the character designs done and had added the respective details to the storyboard, he couldn’t progress until he had an ending. This lack of productivity bothered him. He had to figure out what to do before the day ended.  
            Larisa returned upstairs while he was idly refining the lines on a frame of Sanity. She didn’t comment on the resemblance to herself (maybe she didn’t see it?). Instead, she handed Adam a piece of paper: the shopping list.  
            “I’ll go now,” he told her, and stood up.  
            “You don’t have to,” said Larisa as she brushed her hair out of her face. She hadn’t put on much makeup today, and it was a tad unusual seeing her without her brown lipstick and eye shadow. She’d applied her mascara, he noticed, despite having nowhere to go.  
            “I need some fresh air anyway,” he told her.  
            She looked him in the eye for a long moment before shrugging. “Works for me.”  
            Already dressed in a black t-shirt and his jeans, Adam went downstairs. He grabbed the car keys, put on his boots, and stepped outside. When he realized that it was once again pouring rain, he ducked back inside to grab his coat.  
            “Be careful,” called his wife from upstairs. “I love you!”  
            He forced himself to respond, “Love you, too,” before closing the door behind himself and locking it.  
            _Never thought a day would come where I’d have difficulty telling Larisa that I love her._  
            He got into the car and let out a long sigh as he buckled himself in.

* * *

On the way to the store, Adam had to stop at the tracks for a passing train. It only took sixty seconds to pass him, but for one reason or another, he didn’t move for another two minutes.  
            He liked these train tracks. He wasn’t sure why, but he did.  
            _Is it the idea of freedom? The idea that, one of these days, I could hop onto one of these trains and leave my current life behind? Maybe that’s it. What else is there?_  
            He looked to his left.  
            _I like the view, though it’s nothing special. Mostly a lot of trees and some houses. But I can see more of the sky here than anywhere else in this part of Chicago. I wonder, if I followed these tracks, where would they take me? Is there anything out there for me? Would anybody miss me?_  
            He looked at the steering wheel.  
            _I sound like I’m having a mid-life crisis . . ._ Am _I having a mid-life crisis?_

* * *

The list contained the following items, in no particular order: sugar, coffee, milk, pepper, chicken breasts, toilet paper, butter, and “random”. The last was a request for a random item for them to share; Larisa always added it to her lists if she sent him to do the shopping. As he paced the isles, looking at the list, he decided that today’s random item would be a can of escargot. It wasn’t “random” per se, since he picked it because he kept seeing it and it always made him curious, but it would do.  
            Dutifully, his body went around the store collecting the items on the list. All the while, his mind ran circles over the video.  
            _How to end it . . . Kill her? No, too grim. She convinces Trauma to let her go? No, too unrealistic. Hmm . . . She defeats Trauma and has to fight Madness?_  
            He was about to head for the checkout when, staring at the list, he suddenly felt like something was missing. His gut was telling him that there was something that Larisa had said to him that she’d forgotten to write down.  
            “I need . . .” He tried to recite to himself what she’d said that morning. “I need . . . eggs, sugar . . .” His eyes widened. “Eggs. _Eggs_ , that was it.”  
            So, he headed over to the dairy section. At the far end were the eggs, and he picked up a carton. He opened it and skimmed over the eggs to make sure that none had broken or anything. As he nodded to himself and put the eggs into his basket, he heard someone gasp nearby, and then footsteps were approaching him. He tried not to think anything of it until the footsteps stopped right in front of him.  
            “Oh my Gosh,” gushed a young female voice. “Adam?”  
            He took the stranger in piece by piece, starting from her dark brown, light beige-soled boots and puffy white socks. She wore black capris, and a long-sleeved lavender shirt, over which she wore a long, dark purple t-shirt. Around her neck was a puffy green scarf. Her platinum blonde hair was short—about mid-neck length—and it puffed out on the sides of her head with great volume. It looked as soft as silk. Slathered in lip gloss, her lips were a pale pink color. Her blue eyes, accented by cat-eyed eyeliner and a small amount of mascara, seemed to glitter. A slightly darker shade of blond than her hair were her eyebrows, arched in pleasure.  
            She was a small girl, only standing at about five feet three inches. And though the makeup made her look three years older, he knew that without it she would only look to be sixteen. After taking in the sight of her, he knew exactly who she was, but found himself unable to speak.  
            “I knew it! I _knew_ we shopped at the same store!” Evangeline clapped her hands softly in an excited flutter. “I’m so happy to see you!” Then, she threw herself at him and hugged him. Her arms were unable to wrap around him all the way, and he felt both of her small hands on either side of his back.  
            “Oh . . . Evangeline. Uh, hello.” He wasn’t sure of what to say, or do, for that matter. He didn’t return the hug, but also didn’t push her off of himself—half of him wanted to, but the other half kind of liked the sudden affection. She soon pulled back on her own accord and beamed up at him with her youthful, pretty face.  
            “Eve,” she insisted with a smile. Then, she asked “How are you?” with her hands behind her back as she wobbled herself gently.  
            Adam stammered for a few seconds, unable to remember how to speak. His eyes remained fixed on Evangeline, at least until he shook his head and finally came back to his senses. “Um, yeah.” He paused, remembering her question. “Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m doing good.” Paused again. “ _Well_. I’m doing well. You?”  
            She giggled and twirled her hair around her finger. “My day’s a lot better now.”  
            “Why?” He wanted to slap himself, but didn’t. “Oh, right. Because you . . . Wait, really?”  
            She nodded. When she noticed his basket, she asked, “Do you want me to get you a cart?”  
            “Hmm?”  
            “Your basket seems kind of full, and if you’re getting more . . .”  
            He glanced down at his basket and finally remembered why he was there in the first place. “Oh, no. I, uh. I was about to leave, actually.”  
            Her dissatisfaction was clear when her mouth puckered into a tiny frown. “Were you?”  
            “Yeah . . . But it was nice meeting you, Evangeline.”  
            “Please, call me Eve.”  
            Adam tried not to let his anxiety get the best of him. “. . . Eve, then.” He was about to turn, but she stopped him.  
            “Hey, umm, listen,” she began. “Are you doing anything tonight?”  
            Confused, Adam narrowed his eyes.  
            _Is she asking me out right now?_  
            “I know of a cool little restaurant, and if you haven’t been to it before, I’d love to introduce you.”  
            _She’s asking me out right now._  
            “Oh. Well, uh, that’s sweet, but . . .” He glanced down at his wrist to look at the time, but then remembered that he hadn’t worn a watch in years.  “ _Oh_.” Embarrassed now, he instead raised the hand up and rubbed the back of his head. “Thank you for the offer, Evang—err, _Eve_ , but I’m . . .”  
            _Do I use Larisa as an excuse? Or do I mention the video?_ Already, Evangeline seemed disappointed. _The video seems like the safer option._  
            “. . . I’m going to be working all night.”  
            Her sad blue eyes then sparkled with excitement. “On a new video?”  
            “Yeah. I’m almost finished with storyboarding, so I’m afraid that’s going to be keeping me busy tonight.”  
            Evangeline giggled and again twirled a lock of platinum hair around her skinny index finger. She waved her other hand dismissively. “Oh, that’s all right. Maybe some other time. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your work, especially when I’m so excited to see what you’re making this time!”  
            He smiled at her, and then felt a rush of panic as he realized— _I have no clue how to end this conversation. Do I walk away now? I can’t do that; that’d be rude, wouldn’t it?_  
            Lucky for him, Evangeline said, “I’ve got to run and get a few things before I checkout. I’ll see you!”  
            “Bye,” he managed to say. He waited until she turned her back before shivering. Then, he headed for the checkout himself.  
            The lines were long, but not unbearable. As he made it to the front of his line and pulled out his wallet, the man in front of the next checkout left, and into his place stepped Evangeline. She pivoted her torso a bit to pull her wallet from her back right pocket. As she did, she locked eyes with him and gave him a coy, love-struck smile. He stared back as he felt a chill run down his spine. Something about her unsettled him even in person.  
            She left first, walking past him, playing cool as she did. He was so unnerved that when it came time to pay with his card, he input his own PIN wrong twice.  
            As he walked out of the store, he tried to focus instead on the video, but that was much harder than he expected. He put the grocery bags in the trunk and let out an anxious sigh.

* * *

It wasn’t until he drove past the train tracks again that he noticed the car trailing behind him. It kept its distance, but it was rare for him to see anyone else while driving this way. So, its mere presence was enough to tip him off to the fact that he was being followed. Despite this, he tried to remain calm.  
            _Why would anyone follow me from the store? I didn’t buy too much. My car doesn’t look expensive. I don’t_ seem _rich, or otherwise worth robbing. It’s got to be some sort of a coincidence._  
            Trying to push his paranoia aside, he continued driving home. The vehicle followed him all the way to his house, so to be safe, he decided to keep driving. When he finally did stop the car, he did so on the other side of the street. Sure enough, the pursuing vehicle drove past him and disappeared around a corner.  
            He sat in complete stillness for about five minutes before starting the engine again and making a U-turn back onto his side of the street. Then, he parked in his driveway. After he turned off the engine once more, he spent a few minutes in silence, pondering on what had happened.  
            _It has to have been some sort of mistake . . ._ Then, a thought occurred to him. _Unless it was Evangeline?_  
            Of course. It had to be her. Her infatuation with him must have led her to follow him home. With her curiosity sated, that would be the end of it. She wouldn’t use this information for anything. What did she even have to use it for? To show up at his house one day, out of the blue? He doubted that she would do that; even though something about her seemed off, she did seem like a clever girl. She had to be aware that doing anything reckless would have no benefit. She liked him, that was all.  
            _Maybe she wants to send me something, but felt that asking for my address would’ve been too awkward . . . Not that her stalking me on my way home didn’t nearly give me a heart attack._  
            With that, Adam decided to dismiss the troubling event and go about his day as if it had never happened. His only hope was that nothing would come of it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on October 10th, 2017.

For lunch, Larisa made omelets. As she cooked, Adam sat at the dining table. His phone sat on the table in front of him, and while he kept reaching for it, he kept stopping himself from picking it up. Evangeline had been texting him non-stop for the past hour, but hadn’t mentioned following him home. Part of Adam began to doubt that it actually _was_ her, but another part argued, w _ho else could it have been?_  
            He had read all of her messages thus far. Most were unremarkable; her clamoring, excited for his video and wanting to know more about it. But he hadn’t responded, not once. His phone vibrated on the table—he’d set it to vibrate to not attract Larisa’s attention. Him getting so many notifications at once would surely confuse her. Again, his hand reached for the phone, and the moment he realized that it did, he locked his arm in place. He had to force his hand back onto the mug of coffee that currently sat where his plate would be in a moment.  
            Adam felt off. There were waves on the surface of his coffee, as if it were being sloshed about, but he wasn’t moving. There were berries on the decorative plant on the center of the table, even though it was a fake palm plant, and . . .  
            _Wait. Decorative plant?_  
            Adam blinked and stared at the plant. With hesitance, he reached out and touched one of the droopy leaves with his fingertip. Sure enough, he felt the artificial fabric-like material. It was really there, but . . .  
            _We don’t_ have _a plant here._  
            “Larisa?”  
            “Yes?” His wife’s voice called back from the kitchen.  
            “Am I going crazy?”  
            “What?”  
            “There’s a _plant_ on the _dining table_.”  
            “Oh, you finally noticed?”  
            Adam said nothing and looked down at his coffee. He could see the reflection of the leaves in the light hitting the surface of the hot liquid.  
            His phone vibrated again. He wondered what Evangeline was saying. Was it possible that she hadn’t exhausted the subject of his video? Did she truly have more to say?  
            In the reflection, he saw something growing out of the plant. His mind ran rampant about what it could be— _another plant? A flesh-eating spider? A monster made of vines?_ —but he found himself petrified, unable to look up at whatever was happening in front of him.  
            The phone vibrated.  
            He heard a dish being placed on the other side of the table, and the sound caused him to look up. Larisa was there, setting her own plate down. She still held another, for him, but he didn’t focus on that, because _there was a goddamned red honey flower growing out of the palm leaves_. In utter awe, Adam gawked at the new flower. It didn’t look fake, and he could very distinctly smell it, though he hadn’t known what honey flowers smelled like beforehand. It smelled sweet, like nectar. Larisa turned her head, revealing her face to him. But when he noticed something wrong about it in his peripheral vision, he finally looked at her. Then, he felt his blood run cold.  
            Larisa had no face. Under her hair was _the head of a spider_. The fangs twitched as all eight eyes blinked out of sync. She spoke to him, her voice normal despite her inhuman head:  
            “Move your mug?”  
            Adam was so stunned that he completely forgot the meaning of the word “mug”. So, grasping at straws, not taking his eyes off of the giant spider that had taken his wife’s place, still smelling the intense honey flower scent and no longer smelling any trace of eggs, he reached for his phone and picked it up, perhaps to call 9-1-1.  
            _What would I say? “Hello, officer; my wife has turned into a giant spider-demon”?_  
            Apparently noticing his utter horror, Larisa lowered the plate. “Adam? What’s wrong?”  
            He forced himself to look away, and then he ran his hand down his face. All at once, the honey flower smell disappeared. Then, he looked back at Larisa. She had her face back—her pretty face that he hadn’t realized he would miss so much after seeing it replaced by something so disturbing. Her brows were knitted in concern. But despite no longer having a smell, the honey flower remained.  
            “Um . . .” Without thinking, Adam glanced at his phone. In the past five minutes alone, he’d received 13 direct messages from Evangeline. He stood up, put the phone into his back pocket, and sat back down.  
            “Adam?” Larisa asked again.  
            “It’s, uh”—he laughed—“nothing. I, uh . . . I think I’ve had way too much coffee today.”  
            “But this is only your second cup, isn’t it?”  
            “Then maybe I haven’t had enough.” His hands shaking, he reached out and grabbed the mug. When he brought it to his lips, he sipped down some of the liquid.  
            _That was horrifying, but I guess that’s what I get for wanting my imagination back. Not the first time I’ve had a waking surreal nightmare like that, anyway . . ._  
            Larisa rolled her shoulders and let out a low breath before picking the plate back up. She placed it down in front of Adam. Mouth full of coffee, he hummed at the gesture, then swallowed and said, “Thank you.”  
            She forced a brief smile and sat down across from him. The plant was in the way, so he couldn’t actually see her anymore.  
            _That damned honey flower doesn’t help . . ._  
            For the first half of their meal, there was an awkward, oppressive silence. Neither of them dared say a word. Adam tilted his head, trying to see Larisa behind the plant. She didn’t notice, as she was gazing down at her plate. She poked her omelet with her fork. Only two bites worth were missing.  
            _I’ll humor her._ “You okay?”  
            She looked up and met his gaze. But she could only hold it for a second before she looked back down at her food. “Yeah,” she assured. “I’m fine.”  
            _Is she feeling guilty? Does she know that I know about her affair? In a second, she’ll say something that might suggest otherwise, but is that the_ real _reason for her unrest?_  
            She huffed and looked back up at him. As he predicted, she said, “The financial reports I gave in for this month were all wrong. I missed some sort of memo, updates on most of the other reports that I’m using as a source, or something. So that’s, like, an entire month’s work down the drain. I have to redo it all before the end of the month.” Her elbow rested on the table as she laid her brow against her palm. “It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. I can’t believe I screwed up the report so badly.”  
            _Lies. She’s lying to me._  
            “Is that all?”  
            Her eyes, now somewhat narrowed, met his again. “Yeah, I guess so. Why?”  
            He wanted to tell her about how he’d overheard her “secret” phone calls, but instead, he held his tongue. After pulling himself back, sitting up straight, he pierced part of his omelet with his fork and brought it up into his mouth. It didn’t taste like an omelet, though; it tasted like honey. But he thought nothing of it.  
            For the rest of the day, the two of them didn’t talk very much. Adam spent hours in his office, finalizing the line art frames in his video. Every twenty minutes, though, he made an excuse to go downstairs to see if Larisa was still there. She was in the dining room every time, and she was either busy at work on her laptop (he could tell it was work because of her facial expression; she always looked serious when working) or skimming through the papers beside her laptop. On the other side of her laptop, she had her own mug of coffee. Over the course of the day, he noticed how its contents depleted, and then would be freshly-filled the next time he came downstairs.  
            She didn’t seem to find his frequent check-ins bothersome, or even unusual (though they were very much so). The first few times, she would look up and smile at him, but then she stopped paying attention. He’d been counting the number of times he’d checked on her, and the sixteenth time, she finally said something to him.  
            Without even looking away from her laptop, or stopping her typing, she asked, “Are you restless?”  
            Standing in front of the fridge, peering into it for no real reason, he froze for a moment. Then, he answered with a question of his own: “Are you?”  
            He watched her brow furrow, and then she looked up at him. “Um . . . No? I mean, I’m busy. I don’t mind you pacing around the house, but . . .”  
            “I mean, are you restless about . . .” He trailed off, stopping himself from confronting her once again.  
            “About . . . ?”  
            “Nothing. Forget it.” He closed the fridge and went back upstairs, ignoring her gaze as it followed him out of the dining room.  
            _I’m such a coward. Why can’t I ask? Why can’t I tell her that I know? Why can’t she_ tell me the truth _??_  
            He returned to his office, closed the door, and sat down. But he didn’t work. Instead, he thought.  
            _She’s going to leave soon, I know it. I won’t hear the phone call, and I might not even hear her leave. But I’ll go downstairs in two hours, after the sun sets, and she’ll be gone. I_ know _it._  
            As he resumed working on his video to pass the time, it dawned on him right at that moment why the video had puzzled him.  
            _It’s not surreal enough. It’s more of a horror short than a surreal experience. Is it possible to make it more like my previous videos? Maybe if I remove any aspect of story, and start over from scratch . . . No, I’ve come too far for that. I may as well finish this, even if it isn’t like my older work._  
            His phone vibrated in his back pocket for the first time in four and a half hours. He had forgotten all about it until this, so he quickly checked it. This time, though, it was a text from Jesse.  
            “Drinks at seven?” was all it said. Adam thought about it for only a second before he decided against it.  
            _No. I have to be here in case Larisa leaves. When she gets back, I’m going to confront her. As much as I’d like to . . ._  
            “I’m going to have to decline,” he answered.  
            “Busy?”  
            “Afraid so.”  
            “Your loss!” Jesse replied, with a winking emoji.  
            Adam’s lips curled into a small, brief smirk. Or maybe it was a scowl; he wasn’t sure. Whatever the case, he closed his texts and turned his attention onto the direct messages from Evangeline.  
            _Is it too late to answer these if I do read them? I mean, I kind of_ have _to read them, but would she be expecting a response?_  
            Most of the messages were, as he’d suspected, about his video. She inquired eagerly about when it was going to be finished, and what it was going to look like. But the last few messages were different. One of them was a picture. Before looking at it, he read the message after it.  
            “I tried drawing you again. I’m not very good at full-body drawings, but I just had to draw your whole outfit! I hope you like it as much as the last one.” Smiling emoji.  
            A tiny flutter of glee blossomed in his chest, and he looked at the image. Sure enough, it was another drawing of him. He was drawn in a static pose, hands in his coat pockets, but it was lovely regardless. On the side of the image, in the same handwriting as before, was his name, the dot above the “i” still drawn as a heart. Under it, the signature “ _~ Eve_ ” was present again, confirming that it was hers as much as the style did.  
            Her next message read, “I wish I had a better camera to take pictures of my art with. It looks nicer in person.” And then, “Maybe I could give it to you the next time we see each other? We could go out for coffee or something and I could give it to you then!” And, “I’m sorry if I seem kind of creepy, asking you out for coffee and whatnot. I know you’re busy, but I just love you so much! I want to have a real conversation with you.” Another smiling emoji concluded this. Her last message asked, “What do you say? Coffee at Starbucks tomorrow morning (or somewhere else, if you don’t like Starbucks)?”  
            He decided not to reply. It felt rude to refuse her, though he had to admit that ignoring her felt just as rude.  
            _I’ll consider it . . . possibly._  
            It _was_ an intriguing offer. He didn’t like Starbucks, but the thought of relaxing at a coffee shop with a pretty fan sounded like bliss. His only problem was that he wanted to work on the video as much as possible.  
            _But I_ am _starting to get stressed out . . . Whatever. I’ll think about it later._  
            At 7:02 PM, he stopped working on the video and stood up. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to have heard anything, but he knew that Larisa would have left by now.  
            _Now it’s time to play the waiting game._  
            He had it all planned out. He would sit in the dining room and wait there for her. He’d call her only once, if she wasn’t back by 8:00, and he’d let it ring through, but he wouldn’t leave a message. When she finally returned, he’d stare at her until she felt compelled to speak for herself. Then, he’d tell her that he knew everything, whether it was true or not. That would be enough to scare her into confessing, even if only by accident—by means of a look, or her body language. Something would give it away, and he could finally be certain.  
            Sure enough, the dining room was empty. Larisa wasn’t upstairs, and she wasn’t here. She had left.  
            _Son of a bitch._  
            All of a sudden, he was angry. No, not angry— _livid_.  
            _Son of a_ bitch _!_  
            In his fury, he reached for the plant (but not its vase; he wasn’t the kind of guy to smash things in anger, as he felt that would be unreasonable). But right before he picked it up, he heard it: the dense _thump_ of a filled mug being set down on a coffee table. The sound came from the living area, to his right. He turned, slowly, and peered into the room.  
            Over the couch’s backing, he could see the back of Larisa’s head. She’d done her hair up into a messy bun, which suggested to him even without seeing anymore of her that she was reading a book. He slunk into the living room and peered over the couch to see more. She was lounging, wearing what she’d been wearing for the rest of the day: her lazy t-shirt and sweatpants. Indeed, she was nose-deep in a book. Apparently she hadn’t even noticed him yet, as her only movement under his eye was turning a page.  
            Adam wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He realized that it should’ve been relief, but instead, he remained angry.  
            _She_ has _to know that I know. Now she’s trying to play it off like I’m wrong—trying to_ gaslight _me into thinking that I imagined the phone calls. If I accused her, she’d only deny it!_  
            Still, he couldn’t resist the urge to speak. “Larisa?”  
            She twitched, startled, and looked up at him. Then, she gave him another warm smile. “Hi.”  
            “No phone calls tonight?” Each word was forced and sharp, enunciated clearly and purposefully. But Larisa still seemed oblivious to his distrust.  
            “I’m not expecting any.” She sat up, closing the book over her bookmark. Then, she patted the cushion beside her. “Do you want to watch something with me?”  
            The muscles in his arms were tense, and his fists clenched and unclenched themselves repeatedly. It took him a few minutes to even register her question. He was too busy strangling the frightening urge he had to throttle her.  
            She must’ve noticed something on his face, as her smile faded. “You’ve been on edge all day,” she pointed out. “Are you really okay? Do you want a back massage?”  
            He couldn’t stop himself from snapping, “ _No_ , I don’t want a _back massage_.”  
            “What’s the matter?”  
            _What’s the matter? You know_ exactly _what the matter is! Why won’t you admit it?_  
            “Nothing.”  
            She raised a brow in doubt. “You can tell me anything, you know?”  
            “Same to you,” he rushed. “You can tell _me_ anything. So, what’s the matter with _you_?”  
            Larisa’s eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. “Nothing. I’m perfectly fine. What’s your problem right now?”  
            He tightened his lips to stop himself from answering, “You! _You’re_ my problem right now!” Instead of responding, he turned around and headed back for the stairs.  
            “Adam?” she called after him, but she decided to give him some space. He was able to appreciate that much; if she’d tried to follow him, he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done.  
            He did his best not to slam his office’s door when he closed it. Then, he sat down at his computer and tried to keep working, as though nothing was bothering him. But it didn’t work. His hand was shaking too much, and the line art he did was wobbly and unusable. He tried again, to the same result. Frustrated, he scribbled all over the frame with thick lines, pressing as hard against the tablet’s pressure board as he dared. It felt good to do that, so he vandalized a few frames, forward and backwards. When he’d had his fill, he slapped down the pen and sat back in his chair.  
            _This video wasn’t going to suit my style very well anyway. Nobody would’ve liked it. I should just scrap it._  
            Determined, he reached for his keyboard. He pressed and held down “Ctrl”, and then tapped “S”. At the bottom of the window, he watched the progress bar save the file with the newly-destroyed frames.  
            A few minutes went by without him doing anything. He just sat there, breathing, slowly calming down. Still bitter about Larisa, but less likely to throw something against the wall, he picked up his phone and looked again at the messages from Evangeline.  
            “ _I just love you so much!_ ”  
            Adam blinked and looked back down at her offer to join her for coffee tomorrow morning. It only took him a few seconds to answer: “I know a better coffee shop. – Adam”.


	8. Chapter 8

Adam was sitting at a table in a coffee shop, near the windows. As he sat, he gazed out at the street—at people walking past the shop, living their lives, oblivious to the fact that he was watching them at that moment. He knew that none of them would recognize him if they saw him. No one would look at him and think, “Hey, that’s Adam Keir, the guy who makes surreal videos.” He was nobody to them, despite his tiny blip of “fame” on the internet. He was nobody to everyone except for, at most, four people.  
            _Then again, Eric Dane’s probably long since forgotten me. I haven’t heard from him since 2012. So I’m nobody to everyone except for_ three _people._  
            He felt bad taking time off work to have an early morning coffee, but comforting him was the fact that Jesse could handle the pawn shop on his own. He pitied the customers, though. The thought of Jesse, rocking out to some 80s song as a customer walked in, made him chuckle to himself.  
            _It’s definitely happened already, at least twice. Those poor, poor people._  
            He’d waited for eight minutes now, but he didn’t mind. Having time alone was blissful enough. There was music playing somewhere in the shop, and he heard light chatter from the customers at other tables. There was a pansy flower sitting in a tiny clear vase on the center of his table, as there was at every table. As a result, the homey shop, with its dark, wooden walls, smelled heavenly, of coffee and the sweet perfume of pansies.  
            _I should come here more often. It’s rather soothing to sit here and think._  
            There were wooden ceiling fans. Gazing, Adam pictured vines growing out of them, spreading out across the roof at a slow, satisfying crawl. The vines had thorns on them, the tips of which were lighter than the vines themselves. Some of the thorns began to burst open, blossoming into pansies and honey flowers. Confused by this turn of events, Adam tilted his head. Why did he keep seeing honey flowers? Was he seeing them now because of the one that was in the plant on his dining room table? Again, he could smell the sweet nectar of the Australian plants. Soon, beautiful blotches of purple, white, and red covered the ceiling.  
            Adam’s glance fell onto another customer: some unremarkable man across the shop who was talking to a girl. He stared at the man and tried to will him to stop talking.  
            _Look at the ceiling. Look at the flowers and smell them._  
            It was foolish to expect him to do so, because there wasn’t anything there. But to Adam’s amazement, the man did indeed look up at the ceiling. Then, he seemed mesmerized. The girl with him, though, seemed unaware of what captivated him so.  
            _What in the world? Does he see them too?_  
            Adam looked back up at the flowers on the ceiling. The shade of purple from the pansies caught his eye for some reason, and he squinted at it.  
            _Purple. . . . Purple, like . . ._  
            The shop’s bell rung as the door swung open, and the sound caused Adam to tear his eyes away from the flowers. In the doorway stood Evangeline, who, upon seeing him, twinkled an open-mouthed smile and waved. He smiled back at her, mouth closed and lips together. Giddy, the young girl skipped over and took her seat across from him, laying her dark purple purse on her lap.  
            “Hi!” she gushed. “Thanks for waiting around for me. I got a bit lost.”  
            “No problem,” he said to her.  
            She was still wearing her green scarf, but instead of the purple shirts, she had opted to wear a white wool pullover sweater. It suited her, making the blond tinge to her platinum hair appear more vivid.  
            _Purple, like her eyes. . . . But weren’t her eyes blue before?_  
            Her bangs swooped down over her right eye, and the hair at the sides of her face curled inward. It was sort of messy, but in what he had to admit was an endearing way. Her eyes, lavender in color, met his, and she beamed at him through her frosty pink lips.  
            _I could’ve sworn they were blue._ “Are you wearing contact lenses?”  
            She tilted her head, confused. “No.” Then she giggled and added, “Not that I know of, anyway.”  
            “It’s just that I thought your eyes were blue . . .” _Who has purple eyes? That’s not natural._  
            The young girl shook her head. “Nope. But I can start wearing blue contact lenses if you’d like me to.”  
            Before Adam could answer, an employee came over and asked if he could get them anything. Evangeline ordered an iced vanilla latte, and Adam ordered a simple long black coffee. The employee left with their orders, so Adam resumed speaking.  
            “No, don’t do that,” he told her. “Purple suits you better.”  
            She blushed and gave him a coy smile. “What color are your eyes? It’s so hard to tell.”  
            Adam shrugged and managed a small laugh. “To be honest, I don’t have a clue. Some people say they’re brown, others say they’re hazel. I used to think they were green.”  
            Evangeline leaned in closer, causing him to tense up, and looked him straight in the eyes. Her face twisted in thought and consideration as she scanned his irises. Then, she sat back down and declared, “Well, in this lighting, they look _blue_.”  
            The employee returned and handed them their drinks. As he did, Adam threw up his hands in light-hearted exasperation and remarked, “My point exactly.”  
            “I think they’re hazel, though,” Evangeline continued once they were alone again. “I read once that hazel eyes reflect more light than other colors, so they tend to match colors around them. But they’re really hazel.” Then, she took a dainty sip of her latte.  
            “Huh, I guess that makes sense.” Adam brought his cup to his mouth and carefully blew on the steaming coffee. Instead of drinking, though, he put the cup back down into its saucer and asked, “Where’d you read that?”  
            “Yahoo Answers?” she answered, though she phrased it as a question. “Reddit, maybe. I’m not sure.” She snarked. “I know, I know; it sounds like it was a made-up explanation now.”  
            Again, Adam shrugged. “I don’t think so. Sometimes the people who post on those sites know what they’re talking about.”  
            “ _Some_ times,” stressed Evangeline, through a grin. They shared a laugh.  
            _This is nice. I didn’t know how much I needed something like this; just talking with a stranger who happens to be able to tolerate me._  
            For a moment, the two of them gazed at each other, smiling in silence. Then, Evangeline said, “I think this is the first time I’ve seen your smile. You don’t smile in any of your pictures.”  
            Adam’s mouth twisted before re-establishing itself as a flat line. Bashful now, he looked away, at the window. “Oh. Sorry. I look kind of goofy when I smile, so I usually . . . well, don’t.”  
            “No, no,” Evangeline argued in a gentle, loving voice as she shook her head. “I love it. You look even more handsome when you smile. You should do it more often.”  
            Adam didn’t blush easily, but after hearing Evangeline’s compliment, he felt his cheeks betray him by burning up a bit. He looked at her, and her grin widened. She laid her hand down onto the table, over his. In doing so, she touched his wedding band, and he looked down at it.  
            _God, why are we flirting? I’m almost over fifteen years older than her, and I’m married!_  
            When she saw the wedding band, Evangeline’s eyes dulled, and her mouth fell into a tiny frown. “Oh?”  
            Adam pulled his hand away and retreated it to lay flat on his thigh. After clearing his throat, he picked up his cup and took a sip as he gazed out of the window.  
            “That’s not fair.” The amused tone in her voice was what made Adam look at her again. With her face close to her latte, she said, “You got your ring first.” Then, she drank.  
            Adam wondered for a beat if he’d missed something. “Pardon?”  
            She held up her left hand and tilted it down so he could see the back of it. Her nails were painted a dark purple, he noticed, and had white streaks at the tips. The white skin of her hand looked silky, and he was almost tempted to reach out and touch it.  
            _Stop it, Adam. That’s . . . not an acceptable action._  
            Evangeline waggled her ring finger. “Where’s mine?” she asked.  
            There was a long pause before Adam asked, “What?”  
            Suddenly, the girl’s lavender eyes lit up. “Oh! I get it.” She pulled back her hand and, with her tongue stuck out, crossed her eyes before bonking herself over the head. “ _Duh_.”  
            Adam let out a small, nervous titter. _What is she talking about?_  
            Rather than enlighten him, she changed the subject. “So, how’s the video going?”  
            Adam’s heart sank a bit, and he slouched. “Oh, right, the video . . . Yeah, I, uh, scrapped it.”  
            The look on Evangeline’s face was one of utmost betrayal. “Huh? You . . . scrapped it? But . . .”  
            He shook his head, awkwardly rubbing the back of it. “It wasn’t working out. Wasn’t _surreal_ enough.”  
            “Wasn’t ‘ _you_ ’?”  
            Their eyes met again. “I guess not.”  
            “That’s a shame . . . I was really looking forward to it . . .” Elbows on the table, Evangeline stirred her latte with her straw and looked off into the rest of the shop.  
            _She’s frowning. . . . Why does seeing her unhappy hurt me so much? I have to make her smile somehow._  
            His eyes went up to the ceiling. The imagined flowers were still there. The sight of the pansies reminded him about the vase between himself and Evangeline, and he looked down at it—at the lone pansy sitting inside.  
            _White, with lavender edges, dark purple splotches, and golden in the center._ He looked up at Evangeline, with her white sweater, lavender eyes, dark purple purse, and platinum hair.  
            “You know, you look just like this pansy,” he said. She looked at him, then down at the flower.  
            “It’s pretty. Am I really as pretty as it?”  
            Before he could debate whether it was appropriate or not, Adam found himself nodding and saying, “Prettier.”  
            She smiled once again. “All it needs is a honey flower to keep it company.” With those words, she glanced up at him with a hopeful, longing look in her eyes.  
            Adam frowned. Not because of her gaze or the connotation of her remark, but because of the _literal_ understanding of it.  
            _What is it with honey flowers right now? There’s one in my house, they’re all over the ceiling, and now_ she’s _bringing them up?_  
            He snapped out of his anxious thoughts with a jolt when Evangeline reached out and tapped his nose. She ripped her hand back, surprised by his reaction. Then, she started to giggle. Despite feeling somewhat out of sorts, Adam found her giggle to be contagious, and he chuckled along with her.  
            Suddenly, Evangeline gasped. “Omigosh! I almost forgot!” She snapped open her purse and began rooting through it. Adam watched her, curious. From her bag, she pulled out a folded paper. When she unfolded it, she held it open in front of herself to show it to him. It was the drawing of him that she’d shown him the day prior. “Ta-da!”  
            “Oh,” was all that Adam could muster, but it sounded pleasant, at least.  
            “I said I’d bring it, so I made sure not to leave the house without it,” she told him.  
            She had been right: it _did_ look better in person. There was more detail to it now, and while he did like the effect that low-quality had on it, he had to admit that he liked the real thing more.  
            “Wow,” he said. Then, worrying that he sounded sarcastic, he added, “It’s gorgeous, Evangeline.”  
            “Eve,” she mumbled. Before he could take the correction in, though, she held the drawing out so that he could grab it. “Here, take it.”  
            “Are you sure?”  
            She nodded, eyes squinted from the genuine nature of her happiness. She had dimples on her cheeks that he’d come to realize were always present when she smiled. “I made it for you, after all.”  
            With reluctance, Adam reached out and took the picture. Looking at it, he had a sudden burst of inspiration.  
            “Fold it if you need to. I mean, it’s already _been_ folded, anyway, so there’s no harm to be had.”  
            Adam folded the paper and placed it into his coat pocket. Then, he looked up at her and managed a small smile. She swooned a bit, tightening her mouth into a demure pucker.  
            Five minutes of small talk later, Adam paid for his long black and for Evangeline’s latte, and they bid each other farewell. As they were heading to their vehicles, Evangeline blew Adam a kiss and exclaimed, “I love you!” He did nothing in response, though he felt his brows raise in uncertainty.

* * *

Once he got home, Adam promptly got a heavy book from the bookcase in his office and opened it roughly halfway. He’d left his coat downstairs, but had taken out Evangeline’s drawing first. The paper, unfolded, was placed down onto the open page with its edges sticking out as a sort of bookmark. Then, he slapped the book shut to flatten the creased drawing, and left it on the edge of his desk.  
            After sitting down at his computer, he opened the video’s file. It loaded onto a trashed frame, and he skipped around until he found a frame of Sanity that was still intact. He strapped on his anti-smudging glove and picked up his tablet’s pen. With the eraser tool, he dutifully erased Sanity’s head, hair and all. Then, he switched to the brush tool.  
            He re-drew Sanity with a softer face and a button-nose. Her eyes became more expressive, and boldly lashed. It wasn’t how he normally drew women—he preferred more unsettlingly- _handsome_ drawing, himself. But Sanity became pretty, by the standards of his own twisted art style. Her hair, initially long, was redrawn short, with curls at the side of her face and bangs that swooped down over her right eye. On her chest, he added a pin to her coat. It looked like a pansy.  
            Finally, he knew how to end the video.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on October 24th, 2017.

It was Sunday evening when he finished the video. In it, Sanity never actually fought Trauma head-on. Rather, the large man would hover in the next car. Peering in, she would sometimes see herself rocking at his feet. One set of frames had Trauma sitting on the floor, cross-legged, the entire car flooded with pansies and honey flowers. He intended for this to suggest that her trauma was caused by someone she cared for, someone she loved, but he would allow the viewers to interpret it however they pleased.  
            Sanity then got off of the train and made her way out of the subway. Madness followed her at a distance, and the closer to home she got, the closer he hovered. Soon, she was sprinting down dark, twisting, claustrophobic streets. Madness pursued at a steady pace, seeing no need to run—confident that he was going to catch her either way.  
            When she finally reached her home, it ablaze, and she stared at it in awe and horror. Standing in front of it, with a can of gasoline, was Trauma, and he turned to look at her. But then she blinked, and the fire was out. The house was in shambles—her foundations of trust obliterated, windows boarded up to not let anyone get a look inside of her. Madness lingered nearby, leaning against a lamppost and lighting a cigar.  
            Sanity rushed into her home and slammed the door, locking it. On a shelf near the door was a tiny vase with a pansy in it. Disgusted, she grabbed the pansy out of the vase and crushed it in her palm. As she held her hands up to her chest and cried, Madness approached and laid his hand on her shoulder. She turned around to face him, wanting—needing—comfort . . . but he wasn’t there. She looked at her palm, at the crushed flower. But there was no flower; it was only her pin, which she’d removed from her chest. There was a mirror nearby, and she gazed into it. When the viewer finally got to see her reflection, it was not her own. It was Madness, smiling in malice and pressing his hand up to the glass. She dropped the pansy pin to the floor.  
            Adam thought that the video was boring and non-conclusive, so he wasn’t looking forward to uploading it.  
            _Sure, most of my other works are “boring” and “non-conclusive”, but . . . I don’t know. This video tries to have a story, but fails. It’s meaningless. Right?_  
            He worried that it wouldn’t be well-received by his small fan base.  
            _It’s too long, and it builds itself up for an awesome ending. What if they expect something different? She looks in the mirror and sees that she’s already lost herself to Madness, and she drops the pin, letting go of the last thing connecting her to her trauma—she gets lost in the bliss of insanity. It does have a_ meaning _, but it’s a dull ending, isn’t it? If I do anything more, though, it wouldn’t be like me at all._  
            It was going to have to do. After all, it was impressive that he’d managed to finish it so fast. So, he started the uploading process. As the video uploaded, he hit a snag that he hadn’t even considered yet: he didn’t have a title for the video. Titles had never been his thing.  
            He decided upon the vague title of “ _Nobody wants to hear you cry_ ”, extracted from a longer quote by Andrea Gibson. As the first part of the description, he put this quote, by Danielle Bernock: “Trauma is personal. It does not disappear if it is not validated. When it is ignored or invalidated, the silent screams continue internally, heard only by the one held captive. When someone enters the pain and hears the screams, healing can begin.”  
            Then, he posted it, linked to it on his various social media channels, and waited. Waited for what?  
            _Backlash? Approval? I don’t know_ what _I’m waiting for anymore._  
            But he thought about that.  
            _That’s not true. I’m waiting for Evangeline to see it, aren’t I? I don’t care if Jesse doesn’t watch it. I don’t care if Larisa doesn’t understand it. I don’t care if_ no one _watches or understands it. But as long as Evangeline watches it and understands it . . . That’s the only victory I’m going for with this video. That small victory will have made the video worth it._  
            For an hour, he distracted himself with reading, and didn’t even bother to check on how the video was doing. Then, Larisa came into his office to give him a bowl with some escargots in it. For a moment, he found himself confused.  
            “I figure we might as well eat these now, right?” she asked.  
            “Why are you back so early?”  
            “Early? It’s 10:30 at night. I’ve been home for an hour.”  
            “Oh.” Adam took the bowl and set it on his lap. Then, he resumed reading. There was a beat of silence. Without removing his eyes from the page, he said in a disinterested voice, “Video’s done.”  
            “Is it? I’ll have to watch it.”  
            “It’s long,” Adam, still sounding bored, warned as he turned the page. “If you’re tired, you should wait and watch it at work tomorrow.”  
            “I’ll watch it now,” offered Larisa. “You linked to it on Facebook, right?”  
            “Mm-hmm.”  
            “All right.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead, and as she did her hair fell over his page, which he found a bit frustrating. But then she moved and said, “Love you,” as she headed for the door.  
            “ _La_ you too,” he replied under his breath. She didn’t notice, and left blissfully unaware that his inability to lie was causing him to no longer be able to say that he loved her.  
            _But I_ do _love her_ , he told himself, _so she shouldn’t worry. I just don’t think that she deserves to hear me say it right now._  
            He then lost track of time, absorbed in the book that he was reading. As he read, he ate the escargots; he didn’t like them too much, but he ate them anyway, since he wasn’t one to waste food. He didn’t move until he heard his cellphone’s ringtone. From off of his desk, he picked up the phone and looked at its screen. It was Jesse calling, and with a sigh, he answered.  
            “Hey, Jess.”  
            “Now you don’t have an excuse, you prick!” Jesse shouted in an eager voice.  
            “What?”  
            “I’m on my way to your house right now.”  
            Adam sat upright in his chair. “ _Why_?”  
            “I’m going to beat the shit out of you for avoiding me for so long!” A pause. “No, wait, that’s not right. I’m going to drag you to O’Rourke’s with me whether you like it or not. _Then_ I’m going to beat the shit out of you!”  
            He realized that Jesse was talking about a little bar on the corner of South Western Ave. and 111 th St.; a bar that they’d used to frequent. He’d never been sure why they’d _stopped_ going there—did they not have the time anymore? Adam closed his book and then slicked his hair back with his now-free hand.  
            “You want to go there _now_? It’s almost elev—oh, geez. Almost _midnight_ , actually.” Then, Adam frowned. “Wait, are you driving?”  
            “Well, if you want to get plastered for once, sure.”  
            “No, I mean right now.”  
            “ _Maaay_ be.”  
            “ _Jess_ e,” scolded Adam.  
            “What? I can multitask. Don’t worry about it.”  
            Adam pinched his brows between his fingers and exhaled. “You still think that death is an abstract possibility? That there’s no chance in hell that you could get into an accident?”  
            “Oh, come on, Adam. Don’t be such a nervous Nellie,” mocked Jesse. “What if I hung up right now, mid-sentence? Would you worry about me?”  
            Adam shook his head in exasperation. He checked on the video, and saw that it had a few likes and comments already, but also two dislikes. _At least_  
one _of those comments is bound to be negative._ “You wouldn’t dare.”  
            “I would, and you know it.”  
            “No, you wouldn’t,” Adam warned, though not without a playful lilt to his voice. “Because you know that if you did, I wouldn’t answer the door.”  
            “Larisa might,” Jesse grumbled, defeated, and then laughed. “Anyway, I should be there in twenty minutes, so prepare yourself.”  
            “For what, a hangover?”  
            “For _life_.” Jesse stressed with dramatic force. Then, he hung up without another word.  
            Adam pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at it for a moment. “What an idiot,” he remarked to himself.  
            _Oh, Jess, what would I do without your nonsensical comments and secondhand embarrassment? I love to hate you._  
            Using the phone call as his mental preparation, Adam proceeded to check the comments that he’d received so far. There was one from Jesse that read “Great work as usual, you weirdo!” He smiled at it. Jesse’s comments always ended with some sort of light-hearted insult.  
            Under Jesse’s, he found it: Evangeline’s comment. “OMG!! She looks like me!! TYSM! I love this, and I love you! Amazing job!! ~ Eve”.  
            _She’s signing her comments with “Eve” now . . ._ Adam squirmed in discomfort. _That’s . . . a little bit creepy._  
            Most of the comments were positive, but as he’d predicted, there was one that was long and critical. He skimmed over it with curiosity and consideration.  
            “The animation looks rushed” was one of their observations. They continued, “You seem to be trying to tell a story without actually giving us a story. What gives? If this is what you plan to do with the rest of your videos, then stop now.”  
            Of course, it hurt to read a comment like that. He knew that it would never _stop_ hurting, because of the vulnerability that came with broadcasting his work to the whole world. But he took the comment in stride anyway. He still believed that negative criticism was the most honest, and was the best that he could get in order to improve. It went without saying that _Nobody wants to hear you cry_ had its flaws. He would try to improve upon it with his next video.  
            He was about to move on when, to his dismay, he noticed that Evangeline had replied to the negative criticism.  
            _Oh, no._  
            It took a lot of willpower to not avoid the reply. But rather than ignore it as he so desperately wanted to, he decided that he needed to read it.  
            _Maybe it’s a thoughtfully-written response, like “I see your point, but I like_ this _about his video.”_  
            He only needed the see the first sentence (written in all-caps) to find out that his hope was misguided. Both embarrassed and disappointed, he buried his head in his palm and groaned.  
            “Oh, _no_.”  
            _I need to talk to her._  
            Without any further hesitance, he deleted Evangeline’s reply. Then, immediately, he went to Twitter. He already had two direct messages from Evangeline waiting for him. Before reading them, he noticed that she’d changed her account name was well; it was now “Eve Thompson” instead of “Evangeline Thompson”. He dismissed it, though, as he thought it was to be expected.  
            “You made the main character of your video look like me?!” she gushed in her first message to him. “I screamed when I saw it! I’m so honored that I don’t even have any words! I knew you loved me back! ~ Eve”.  
            Then, her next message, five minutes later: “I’m so angry at that rude person who insulted your video!! What’s the matter with them??”  
            He was a little over two hours late, so rather than scold her outright, he first asked, “Are you still angry? – Adam”.  
            A few seconds passed before she replied, with a grumpy emoji, “Yes. ~ Eve”.  
            To remain on her good side, Adam decided to play along with her nickname. “Eve, you don’t have to get angry in my defense. What that person said was negative, yes, but it was still constructive. Constructive criticism of any sort should be embraced. Not everyone is going to like everything that I post, after all. Having negative input helps me figure out how to make my work better for those who don’t currently like it. – Adam”.  
            “But that can’t be possible,” argued Evangeline. “Everyone should like your videos! Everyone should like you—how could they not? Are they crazy?? I love you so much, Adam. I can’t bear to see these people hating on you for no reason! ~ Eve”.  
            “Relax. If I wanted comments like that dealt with, I’d deal with them myself. There’s no need to add fuel to the fire and start a huge flame war, all right? – Adam”.  
            “I guess . . . ~ Eve”.  
            As an afterthought, Adam added, “Also, please don’t report them. They’re not doing anything worth reporting. – Adam”.  
            “But they’re being so rude to you! ~ Eve”.  
            “Which doesn’t go against the guidelines. Their criticism is still constructive, even if it does come across as rude. I need it to improve.” As some sort of compensation, Adam added an emoji before his signature; just a simple smiley face. “– Adam”. After sending the message, he considered it, then regretted it.  
            _I’m too old for emojis._  
            There was a long pause before Evangeline’s next reply, which was “I understand. Sorry for my outburst; I’m a little embarrassed about it now . . . ~ Eve”.  
            “All’s forgiven as long as you’ll avoid instigating fights like that in the future. – Adam”.  
            “I will! Thank you for giving me a second chance! I really loved the video, BTW. You made me look so beautiful!! ~ Eve”.  
            Adam was about to respond when Larisa entered. He looked at her.  
            “So, Jesse’s at the door,” she droned. Her curiosity as to _why_ was unspoken, but implied nonetheless.  
            “He wants to take me out for drinks at O’Rourke’s Office.”  
            “Ah.” She seemed tired, and she waved her hand dismissively. “You’d better go, then, before he barges in and makes himself at home.”  
            “You left him unsupervised. He’s probably done that already.”  
            “Touché.”  
            Adam stood up and placed his phone into his back pocket. “Are you going to sleep?”  
            “I think so . . .”  
            In a good mood only due to his short talk with Evangeline, Adam approached Larisa, held her hips, and pecked her on the cheek. “I won’t be out too long, but don’t wait for me. Get some sleep.”  
            She smiled and nodded. Then, she kissed him on the lips, and he managed to return the gesture. When she pulled away, she said, “Be safe. I love you.”  
            “I will. Love you, too.”  
            “Goodnight.”  
            “’Night.”  
            Larisa wandered out of Adam’s office, leaving the door open in her wake. With a content huff, he watched her go, then turned and looked up at the wall behind his computer monitor. Pinned there was the flattened drawing that Evangeline had done of him. He gazed at it until he heard Jesse honking outside. After making sure that his phone was indeed in his back pocket, he turned off the monitor, then the office’s light, before rushing downstairs to join Jesse before he woke up the neighbors.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on October 31st, 2017.

“So! _Nobody wants to hear you cry_. That was quite the experience. What does it mean?”  
            Adam looked at Jesse. He was sitting across from him in their small booth, and his arms were up, across the top of the plush back cushion. The lighting in the bar made his skin look more flushed than usual, and he had to assume that it had the same effect on him. Rather than answer the question, he decided to turn the tables on his friend: “What do _you_ think it means?”  
            “Oh, come on! Don’t do this shit to me!” Jesse took a gulp from his beer glass.  
            “I’m interested in hearing your interpretation,” Adam urged.  
            “You know I’m no good at this.”  
            “Go on.”  
            Jesse sighed and set down his glass. “Well, uh, let’s see . . . I don’t have a single damn clue what to say about the scenes in the train. The big guy in the burlap sack mask, with all those flowers?” He shook his head. “No idea. But, um . . . He sets the house on fire, right?” He looked at Adam for confirmation.  
            “Yeah.”  
            “Her house? Anyway, I guess that’s supposed to mean, like . . .” There was a long pause.  
            The bar was small, but welcoming. There weren’t many people there with them, since it was Sunday night—or Monday morning, since it was almost one. The lights were dim and warm, various shades of pink and orange. From somewhere in the establishment, they could hear Jamiroquai’s “Virtual Insanity” playing. There was a bowl of pretzels sitting on their table, but neither of them had touched it yet.  
            “. . . I really don’t know,” admitted Jesse. “The video was interesting, and I liked it. But I don’t get it.”  
            _You have no imagination, Jess._ “The house represents her emotional state,” Adam hinted.  
            “Does it? Okay, so he sets fire to her emotional state . . .” Jesse tapped his chin in thought, then came up with, “He hurts her or something. Destroys her confidence in herself?”  
            Adam raised his brows, intrigued. “Hmm. That’s a good theory.”  
            “Not right, though.”  
            “No, it’s close enough that I’d _consider_ it right.”  
            “But then who’s the other guy? The guy following her, who turns into her reflection at the end.”  
            “Who do you think?”  
            “You’re impossible.” In mild frustration, Jesse laughed. “Just give it to me, Adam!”  
            Adam was too amused to give in. “Who do you think he is?” he repeated.  
            “Her father,” Jesse answered. Less confident, “Her boyfriend. Her husband?” Then, with suspicion in his voice, “Her inner self? She’s a _man_! That’s the hidden plot twist, isn’t it??”  
            Adam guffawed. “ _No_ , she’s not a _man_ , Jesse! He’s none of those things.”  
            “Who the hell _is_ he, then?”  
            Finally, Adam succumbed. “He’s the representation of her madness. The other guy represents her trauma, and her fear of getting hurt again.”  
            “But then he’s her boyfriend, right? The one that represents her madness? He betrayed her, and she lost her mind over him.”  
            Surprise silenced the shorter man for a beat before he said, “I hadn’t thought of it like that, but maybe you’re right. He died, and she thinks it’s her fault. Her reflection becomes him because she feels guilty.”  
            “Or he’s a former boyfriend turned stalker, and she’s become as obsessed with him as he is with her,” Jesse suggested. And then he popped a pretzel into his mouth.  
            _Seems alcohol makes him more imaginative . . ._  
            Adam considered that. “That’s a good idea. I like that theory a lot.” Though, deep down, some part of it disturbed him. Was it the association with Evangeline and her growing obsession with _him_ that caused to resonate with him?  
            “Say, does the girl in the video have a name?” asked Jesse, talking while he chewed.  
            “No, not really. I mean, I called her ‘Sanity’ during production, but that’s not really a name.”  
            “‘Sanity’, huh?” Jesse swallowed, took a sip of his beer, and then did a wolf whistle. “I’d show ‘Sanity’ a good time, if you know what I mean. You made her hot as shit!”  
            Something in Adam felt offended, and it led him to argue, “Well, she’s based off of someone that I know.”  
            Jesse’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights as he leaned closer to Adam across the table. “Is she? My God. Can you introduce me to her? If she’s anywhere near as good-looking as you drew her, I want to meet her!”  
            For a long moment, Adam had no answer. Almost all of him wanted to say no, or at least say that she didn’t live in the city.  
            _But why should I care? If Jesse dates her, it’s none of my business. So why can’t I bring myself to say yes?_  
            Adam’s hand, on the table, clenched, and his fingers squirmed. He felt tense as he said, “I don’t know, Jess. She’s, uh, pretty young.”  
            “How young?”  
            “Too young for you.”  
            “What, like, early twenties? I’m only 34, dude. Only thing too young for me is illegal, I’d think.”  
            “Early twenties _is_ too young for you,” Adam countered. “Besides, she’s 19.”  
            Jesse leaned back again. “You’re only making her sound better, Adam,” he pointed out.  
            “Better? Jesse, she’s fifteen years younger than you.”  
            “So?” asked Jesse with a complacent shrug. “As long as I’m not old enough to be her father, I don’t see a problem with an age gap.”  
            “You don’t?” Adam inquired. All of a sudden, he’d found an opportunity to justify his physical attraction to Evangeline, and he wasn’t about to let it slip. “You don’t think that a guy in his mid-thirties finding a girl who’s barely legal attractive is . . . I don’t know, _immoral_?”  
            “ _Pfft_ ”—Jesse shook his head as if appalled by the idea—“ _God_ , no! Barely legal chicks are _hot_ , dude! They’re hot because of the whole ‘forbidden fruit’ concept, y’know? You’re not supposed to want them, but because you’re not supposed to, _of course_ you do.” He leaned forward again and slammed his hand down on the table. “And _they_ want _you_ , too. Most young women want an older man, because they feel that guys their age are too immature.”  
            “And you’re not ‘too immature’?” Adam asked with a raised brow.  
            “Aw, a little bit of dorkiness is never a bad thing. The ladies love the dorky guys.”  
            “Which doesn’t explain why you still don’t have a girl . . .”  
            Jesse scoffed and sat back once more. “Who says I doesn’t have a girl?” He paused for a beat, playing back what he’d just said in his head. “I mean . . . Who says . . . _said_ I don’t have a girl? Jesus, the booze is getting to my head fast tonight.”  
            “If you have a girl, then why do you want to meet the girl I based Sanity off of?”  
            “Maybe I just want a cute friend,” Jesse commented through a pompous pout. Then, he ate another pretzel. While chewing, he spoke again. “Speaking of love lives, how are you and Larisa doing?”  
            Adam frowned. “Well, uh . . .” _Do I really have any reason to hide it anymore?_ “If I’m honest, it’s, um . . . a little rough right now.”  
            Jesse shot Adam a look, one that expressed mild concern. “What’s wrong?”  
            Uncertain, Adam scratched at his jawline. “It’s nothing, really . . . It’s just . . .” His eyes met Jesse’s. “. . . Well, I think she’s . . . Uh, I think she might be . . .” It was hard to force it out. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.  
            Jesse took a shot in the dark. “She’s not pregnant, is she?”  
            “No, no, God, no,” Adam denied. “She’s just been, uh . . . staying late at work a lot recently, so . . .” He tittered to himself. “It’s stupid, but I’m worried that she might be . . .”  
            Picking up on the undertones, Jesse snapped, “What, you think she’s having an affair?”  
            “I . . .” Adam fidgeted in his seat. “. . . I don’t know. Maybe.”  
            “Are you listening to yourself?” The disbelief on Jesse’s face was intense. “Adam, she loves you. I don’t think she’d ever cheat on you, not even with . . . with, uh . . . What celebrity does she like? Whoever he is, I don’t think she’d betray you like that even for him.”  
            “You think so?” he begged. “Do you think I’m being paranoid?”  
            “ _I_ think that she’d be deeply offended to hear that you would even _consider_ that,” Jesse answered.  
            _He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand that I have_ proof _!_  
            “I mean, you still love her, don’t you?”  
            It dismayed Adam to discover that he needed to think about that. “Yes,” he answered after too long of a pause. “Yes, of course I do. But I’ve overheard phone calls . . .”  
            Jesse’s eyebrows pinched in an emotion that Adam was unable to identify. He assumed it to be disgust—disgust that he could even _think_ such horrible things of his own wife—but he had no way of being sure.  
            “I don’t know what to believe anymore, Jess . . .” He put his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. “I think she still loves me, but I just don’t know.”  
            Jesse shook his head and picked up his glass. “Women are confusing. But she still loves you. She’s got to.” Then, he drank.  
            Adam clasped his hands, but continued leaning his forehead against them. “I’ve got another problem with my love life,” he confessed.  
            “Do tell,” Jesse said. “I love drama.”  
            “I’m not sure if Larisa loves me anymore, but I think someone else does. I don’t know what to do.”  
            Jesse set his glass down. “You aren’t going to leave Larisa, are you?”  
            He shook his head. “I’m not saying that I want to get together with this girl. I don’t want to break her heart, though. I don’t think she knows I’m married.”  
            “Have you been leading her on?”  
            “I’ve been trying not to, but I don’t think she gets the hint that I’m not interested in her.” _At least, I don’t_ think _I’m interested in her . . . No, I’m_ not _interested in her. I_ can’t _be._  
            “Then why not introduce her to me?”  
            “I would if I thought that’d work. Listen, I think . . . I think she’s _obsessed_ with me.”  
            “Okay?”  
            “She followed me home recently.”  
            “So, what”—Jesse chuckled—“she’s the stalker-type? Has she been stalking you?”  
            _I hadn’t considered it to be “stalking” . . ._ “I don’t know. She’s not _that_ obsessed. Not yet, anyway. But I’m worried that she might _become_ that obsessed.”  
            “Well, be blunt with her, then,” suggested Jesse. “Tell her to leave you alone.”  
            Adam looked up at his friend. “That’s a guaranteed way to make her go from zero to a hundred on the ‘stalker’ scale, Jess. She’s already changed her profile name so that it goes with mine better.”  
            Jesse’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. Who are we talking about? Is she following you on Twitter?”  
            “Um . . . Yeah. Why?”  
            “Evangeline Thompson, right? The girl who changed her profile name to _Eve_ Thompson?” When Adam nodded, stunned, Jesse added with a smirk, “Yeah, she’s following me too. I guess she saw our tweets at each other.”  
            “Has she said anything to you?”  
            “Not much. I tried talking to her, but she’s pretty quiet.” Coming to a sudden realization, Jesse decided to taunt Adam. “Wait, is _she_ who you based Sanity off of? That funny-looking girl?”  
            “She’s not ‘funny-looking’,” Adam refuted.  
            “And you think she’s _stalking_ you?” Jesse stifled a laugh.  
            “I never said that. I said she _might_ stalk me.”  
            Shaking his head, Jesse picked up another pretzel. “I wouldn’t worry about her, Adam. Regardless of how much she seems to like you, I _highly_ doubt that she’s going to break into your house anytime soon.”  
            Adam couldn’t be so sure. Conflicted, he rested his head on one of his hands, placing the other down on the table. Then, he let out a deep sigh.  
            “Now what do you say we get some more drinks?”  
            “Yeah, sure, Jess . . . Whatever you want . . .”

* * *

When Adam finally got back home, he watched Jesse drive away before entering. As he closed the door behind himself, he wondered what time it was.  
            _It’s got to be around 2:00 . . ._ He checked his phone. _2:41 . . . Close enough._  
            He was a little bit tipsy, but not exactly drunk. To forget his problems, he’d drank more than usual, much to Jesse’s pleasure. Much to his _disappointment_ , though, he then discovered that Adam didn’t do anything out of character when tipsy. He didn’t sing, dance, or even talk any more freely. The most he was able to get from Adam was that he was happier than he was before. Happier, and also tired.  
            Leaning against the wall for support, Adam pulled off his boots. Then, he hung up his coat and stretched.  
            “I’ll see you in six hours,” Jesse had shouted at him as he approached the door. It wasn’t until he was standing in the dark in front of the closed front door that he finally registered it.  
            _Christ. I’m going to be exhausted tomorrow . . ._  
            He tried to be quiet as he trudged up the stairs and into the bedroom. Larisa was lying in bed already, fast asleep. Standing beside his side, he pulled off his t-shirt and slipped out of his jeans. He was too worn out to care about hanging them up, so he let both articles of clothing fall to the floor. After his socks joined the pile, he got into bed and pulled his corner of the covers over himself.  
            For a moment, he gazed at the ceiling. Then, he turned over to face Larisa and stared at the back of her head.  
            _Maybe Jesse was right_ , he thought to himself. _Maybe I’m just paranoid. She still loves me._  
            He moved closer to her and, spooning her, gave her a small peck on the cheek. She snuggled into his embrace in her sleep and let out a low hum. Satisfied with the response, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on November 1st, 2017.

When Adam awoke, he was alone in bed. There was no alarm to wake him, no phone call. Instead, he woke up on his own, to an otherwise empty bed. A few minutes went by with him cursing Larisa in his head, believing that she’d left him in the night. But then came the realization that it was Monday morning, and that she must have left for work.  
            _I have to leave for work at 8:00. So if she’s already gone, then I should get up . . ._  
            Still groggy, he turned over in bed and reached to the table for his phone. But it wasn’t there. So he sat up, confused, and rubbed his eyes before looking at his alarm clock.  
            9:30, it read.  
            For a few seconds, Adam stared at the numbers, trying to figure out why his clock was wrong all of a sudden. Then, it struck him that it _wasn’t_ wrong when he reached down for his pants and removed his phone from the back pocket.  
            _Oh, God. I’m late for work!_  
            He leapt out of bed, no longer caring about how chilly the room was. He threw on his jeans before his socks, then cursed at himself for doing so. His socks, therefore, were pulled on only halfway. This bothered him, but not as much as being anymore late than he already was. When he reached down and picked up the t-shirt he’d worn the night prior, he thought about calling Jesse immediately and apologizing. But, no, _I’d only be wasting more time._  
            He returned his phone to his back pocket and pulled on his shirt as he blindly rushed down the stairs. All he thought about was poor Jesse, expecting to see him at work, so he went straight to the front door. After jumping into his boots, not bothering to lace them, he tore his coat off the hook it hung on and dashed outside. Thankfully his keys were still in his coat’s pocket, and with them, he locked the door. Then, he took off running down the street, holding his coat in one hand and his keys in the other. It wasn’t until he made it to 95 th St. out of breath that he finally stopped to put the coat on. But this time he put his keys into the pocket of his pants, as they were less likely to fall out if he ran again.  
            And run again he did, though not very far. The rest of the way to Waller’s Pawn Shop, he alternated between jogging and speed-walking. By that point, he could no longer tell if he felt off since waking, or because he had exerted all his energy so soon after.  
            He ripped open the door to the pawn shop and was surprised to not hear any music playing. Jesse, not singing, dancing, nor looking at his computer, was standing on the wrong side of their desk. He was hunched over, reading something, and at the sound of Adam’s panting, he turned to look at him and beamed.  
            “I was beginning to think you’d never show,” he greeted as he turned himself fully. “Did you sprint here? I haven’t seen you this out of breath since you last ran a mile in our high school gym class.”  
            Adam, exhausted, struggled to catch his breath. “Sorry—I’m late— . . .”  
            Before speaking again, Jesse clasped his hands. “Perfect timing, though,” he assured. “I got a call from my pop five minutes ago. Got to go do an errand for him, and couldn’t leave the shop unattended.  
            “Good thing I— _ran_ , then . . . !”  
            Jesse skipped over to him and patted his shoulder. “Sit down for a couple minutes. Once you’ve got your breath back, I need you to move everything on this list out of the storage room for me, all right? I’ll help you if I get back quick enough, but I doubt I will.”  
            Adam nodded. “Got it . . .” _It’s the absolute_ least _I can do._ “Consider it done.”  
            “Thanks!” As he dashed out of the shop, he hollered, “Don’t push yourself!” Since Jesse was gone less than a second after, Adam saw no reason to respond; he’d just be talking to himself if he did.  
            He sat down behind the desk and spent a minute catching his breath.  
            _I need to get into shape. When was the last time I ran like that? Was it really when I was still in high school?_  
            Once he felt that he could focus on it, he reached across the desk and picked up the list. There were various items on it, including instruments and a few appliances. Among them, written in Mr. Waller’s handwriting, was “Jesse’s mini-fridge”. Adam got a small laugh out of it, as the rest of the list had been typed out on a computer. Had he talked Jesse into pawning it?  
            _Probably against his will._  
            He decided that before moving things out of the storage room, he should change into his work shirt. So he made his way into the bathroom. It wasn’t until he was looking at himself in the mirror that he realized that, in his haste, he’d forgotten to actually _bring_ his work shirt with him.  
            “Oh, shit.” _I’m such a mess today._  
            The t-shirt he was wearing already would have to do. It was black, like his work shirt, but lacked the logo. While he was in there, though, he looked at his hair in his reflection and noticed that it was messier than normal. He twisted on the faucet and used the water to slick his hair back. When he turned the faucet off, he heard a door open and close.  
            _Was that the front door? Did someone come in?_  
            He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with a customer on his own, but unfortunately his job required him to. So he dried off his hands and, with a reluctant sigh, stepped out of the bathroom. The words “Can I help you” caught in his throat before he could say them as his eyes fell upon the girl standing in front of the entrance. Instead, he stammered her name: “Ev— . . . Evange _line_?”  
            Evangeline tilted her head, looking away from the list that he’d left on the desk, and smiled at him. She still had her scarf and her purse was slung over her shoulder, but today she wore a long, dark coat. With her left hand buried in her coat pocket, she waved with her right and said, “Hi, Adam.”  
            He took two or three steps closer in confusion. “What are you doing here?”  
            That question earned him the averting of Evangeline’s eyes, and she let out a small, nervous laugh. “Well, uh . . . It might sound crazy, but I wanted to see you again.”  
            “But how did you know that I work here?”  
            “I waited outside your house for a few hours, and then I followed you here. I waited a few minutes to come in.” She looked around the shop. “Is it only you and that Jesse guy that work here? I saw Jesse drive away, but . . . Are you alone now?”  
            Something about her words and the way she kept her left hand hidden in her pocket sent a chill down Adam’s spine. He wondered, frantically, what she had to hide from him.  
            _Is it a gun? No, how would she even get her hands on a gun? A knife, then? Has to be. She’s going to kill me. She knows where I live, she knows where I work, she’s been watching my house and now she’s going to make me hers forever because she knows that I’m married, and she can’t accept that._  
            “No,” he lied. “I’ve got another co-worker in the back waiting for me.”  
            She looked at him with her lavender eyes, and he saw malice in them. “You do?”  
            “Yeah.”  
            “Oh.” The young girl turned around and walked over to one of the displays. “If you’re needed back there, don’t keep them waiting for me. I’m just going to browse for a bit.”  
            He didn’t like how she still kept her hand buried out of his sight, but didn’t know how to ask her to show it to him without giving away his suspicion.  
            _Is it a good idea to leave her?_  
            There wasn’t anything else he could do. So, reluctantly, he turned his back on her and headed into the storage room. He closed it behind himself and debating locking it, but decided against it; he had to move things out of there, so locking it would only waste time.  
            _What if she looks in here and finds out that I’m alone?_  
            There was a flutter of panic in his chest that he couldn’t dismiss. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that Evangeline meant him harm.  
            _Snap out of it! Even if she_ does _try to injure me, I’m a grown man, and she’s a little girl. I could_ easily _overpower her in a fight. Why should I be afraid of her? Unless it_ is _a gun that she has . . ._  
            _No. I’m reading too much into it. It’s as Jesse said; I’m being paranoid. She doesn’t mean any harm. She’s too innocent for that!_  
            So, he stepped further into the storage room and tried to forget about his nerves. But then he saw it: a dead pansy flower sitting on one of the shelves. Fear washed over him all at once. Behind him, he heard the storage room’s heavy door creak open. Quiet footsteps moved closer to him. All the while, he kept staring at the ominous, deceased flower.  
            “Adam.”  
            At the sound of Evangeline’s voice, he turned. He saw her left hand held up in front of him, and from it, a glint of light off of something metal, and with a gasp he flinched, expecting the worst.  
            “Isn’t it pretty?”  
            _Isn’t it pretty?? What?_  
            He hesitated before looking at her again. When he did, he discovered that the light had merely been glinting off of a silver ring around her third finger. It had a purple gem on it that had made the ring look darker than it was, as well.  
            “I bought it yesterday,” she revealed. “You made it hard for me to match with yours, but I think I did a good job.”  
            _Match with mine?_ “What are you talking about . . . ?”  
            She reached down and took hold of his left hand, lifting it up to hover beside hers. He realized then that her ring was similar to his wedding band—even more similar than Larisa’s was. There were then two abject emotions fighting for control of him: one of flattery, and one of distress. The latter, being stronger, was winning. Adam looked Evangeline in the eye. Her dimples showed as she twinkled at him, happier than he’d ever seen her.  
            “Now we can be together,” she exclaimed.  
            “Evangeline, I’m . . . I’m married . . .”  
            She nodded at him.  
            “No, I’m”—he shook his head as if that would help him get through to her—“ _already_ married. To someone _else_.”  
            The young girl’s brows furrowed, and for a moment it was unclear whether she understood what he meant. “But . . . we’re soulmates. We were meant for each other. Don’t you feel it?”  
            He didn’t answer. Her grip on his hand tightened, and she grabbed his other one with equal force before pressing them both to her chest.  
            “I love you, Adam!”  
            Slow at first but increasing to a normal speed, he shook his head. “No, Evangeline, you don’t. You’re _infatuated_ with me,” he told her in a gentle, reassuring voice. “In a few months, you’ll see; it’s only a silly crush.”  
            “Silly?” She shook her head back, much harder than him. “No. No, it’s not _silly_. I _love_ you, I know it! In a few months, I’ll still be in love with you. In a few _years_ , I’ll only love you _more_! I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life!” She bucked forward from emotion and her head landed on his chest. “You have to feel it too. You _have_ to!”  
            Inside and out, he was reeling. Seeing her so distressed was killing him. He hadn’t expected it to hurt him so much. In fact, he was pretty sure that it was hurting him more than he was hurting her with his rejection.  
            She started to cry into his chest, and as she did, she released his hands and hugged him as hard as she could. “Please,” she begged through her sobs, muffled by his shirt. “ _Please_ , tell me you love me _too_!”  
            Flustered and desperate to stop her crying, he choked out “I—” before catching himself. He didn’t dare lay his hands on her. His heart was racing, and he felt a rush of what he assumed to be adrenaline.  
            _Please get off of me. Please stop crying and let go of me._  
            “I’m sorry, Evangeline, I am, but . . . I’m not yours to have,” he told her. “I have a wife, and”—he gulped—“and I’m too old for you, anyway.”  
            “But I love you more,” Evangeline countered. “It’s not fair. I love you more than she does! Don’t you know she’s cheating on you?”  
            Adam’s guilt disappeared, and he looked down at Evangeline with a sharp and surprised look. Sensing this, the girl looked up and met his eyes with hers, which were puffy and red from crying. She smiled, though her eyes still displayed anguish.  
            “I can help you find out with _who_ ,” she offered. “We can catch her red-handed, and you can divorce her, and we can be together! You’re not trapped with her, Adam!”  
            “How do you know she’s cheating?” Adam demanded in a low near-whisper.  
            “Her selfies,” Evangeline answered, “on Facebook. They all have comments from guys that aren’t on either of your friend lists. She replies to them all to cover her tracks. I’m a girl, too, so I know the tricks even if I’ve never used them . . . She’s definitely sleeping with one of them!”  
            Adam knew that she was right, but felt that she had no place spying on his wife to make such an accusation. For all he knew, she was making things up! Thus, he refused to believe her. Staring at his unwavering glare, she seemed to realize that, as her smile turned into a frown.  
            In a collected tone that gave away his anger only in how quiet it was, he told her, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”  
            She pulled away from him, keeping her hands close to her chest in fright. “But . . .”  
            “I don’t care whether you claim to have proof or not. When you come up to me and say such things about my wife, you’re insulting me as much as her.”  
            “I’m sorry,” she whimpered.  
            “Leave,” he ordered.  
            On slow, wobbly feet, she backed away before turning and walking out of the storage room, head down in shame. He followed her with long strides and watched her to make sure that she actually left, and didn’t hide somewhere instead. When she pushed open the door to leave, she turned back and looked at him with tear-filled eyes.  
            “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you . . .” Then, she rushed out, and he kept his eyes on her until she disappeared, out of sight.  
            Once alone, he turned and leaned against the doorframe. All at once his anger dissipated, and in its place emerged both guilt and regret. He let out an uneasy breath and turned his eyes up to the ceiling.  
            He felt horrible, as if he was the one in the wrong. But he hadn’t known what else to do. He hadn’t lied to her, at least; she couldn’t be in love with him, not so soon. It had taken him at least a year and a half to fall in love with Larisa. There was no way that she could actually be in love with him, not after only a little over a week.  
            _She called me her soulmate . . . God, I must have broken her heart. I’m such a terrible person. I feel I’ve killed her, like her blood is on my hands. . . . She wouldn’t_ hurt _herself because of me, would she?_ He didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if she did. He already felt bad enough . . .  
            But there was nothing else he could do at that moment. So with another sigh, he stood up straight and tried to do as Jesse asked despite his inner turmoil.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on November 7th, 2017.

It was Tuesday, and Adam was taking yet another day off. Ever since Evangeline left Waller’s Pawn Shop the day prior, he’d been feeling out of it. Not only had he seen multiple pansies over the course of the day, but he’d also seen other things much stranger. For example, the customer that came in to pawn something who was eating shards of glass out of his own palm. Because Jesse had seemed to notice none of the unusual things that Adam saw, they were even more unsettling.  
            He had slept restlessly, plagued by nightmares of house fires, stalkers, and being buried alive in a graveyard full of blossoming pansies and dead honey flowers. When he woke up at 4:15 in the morning, he saw that he had unread messages from Evangeline. He read them all in the dark, while sitting up in bed.  
            “I’m so sorry! I messed up. Please don’t hate me. I only wanted to be closer with you . . .  
            “I still love you. I’ll always love you. I know you love me too, whether you can’t see it yet or just don’t want to. But if you’re happy with her, you can have us both?  
            “God, I’m sorry for my last message. That was insensitive of me. The more I try to fix this, the more I screw it up. Can you ever forgive me?  
            “Adam, please talk to me!”  
            It was half past noon now, and Adam sat at the dining room table with his hands on his head. He’d stayed home from work not because of the messages that Evangeline had sent (and kept sending, once or twice an hour), but because he had a splitting headache. Not only that, but his mind felt disordered. For the whole day so far, things just hadn’t seemed _right_. He kept finding household objects in strange places (his coffee mug on top of the microwave, for example). And though she made no comment on it, Larisa had left for work at 7:30 with her hair done up in a messy bun. The coffee sitting in front of him, though he kept drinking it, seemed non-depletable.  
            He’d taken two acetaminophen tablets to no avail, and he coped by zoning out. Instead of seeing reality, he imagined himself walking down a winding city street. It was quiet, but in the distance he could hear the faint sounds of cars driving and people walking, talking. The road he walked on started to slant downward, but his sense of gravity didn’t react. He was able to walk on the road normally, without having to be careful of tipping forward. There was a yield sign about halfway down the street, but he didn’t spend any time puzzling over its strange placement.  
            He didn’t look up after passing the sign until he reached the bottom of the slant. When he finally did, he saw that he was now on a wider, less claustrophobic street. There were houses on either side of him. But to his left, he saw one that caught his eye, and he approached it.  
            The house had its windows covered up, and looked like it had been lit ablaze some time ago. As he stood in front of it, he looked over his left shoulder. On the other side of the street, there was a lone lamppost. He half expected to see a man in a suit leaning against it while lighting a cigar. Then, he looked back at the scorched building in front of him.  
            _This is Sanity’s house_ , he realized.  
            Being both slow and cautious, he walked up the steps to the landing, and he reached for the doorknob. With a twist of the knob, the door drifted open. Adam stepped inside.  
            The interior of the house was almost as he’d drawn it. He didn’t remember closing the door behind himself, but it was shut anyway. Something about the house filled him with a deep-rooted sense of dread. But at the same time, it also captivated him. He saw the mirror, beside a fireplace. Unlike how he’d drawn it, the fireplace was lit. On the floor in front of it, he saw something, so he stepped closer and knelt down to pick it up. It was a crushed pansy; a real flower, not a pin. He held it in his hand and felt the softness of the crumpled petals; smelled the aroma from the plant over the smell of burning wood.  
            There was a faint knocking sound off to his right, and he looked toward it. He saw, from left to right, the kitchen, a wall, and the front door. Curious, he stood up, and still holding the pansy he approached the kitchen to investigate.  
            The kitchen didn’t look too different from his own if he ignored the effects that the house fire had had on it. The sink was empty and dripping. As he walked across the floor, he was thankful that he had his boots on, since every step created a splash. He had to assume that the sink’s pipes had burst somehow during the fire.  
            He heard the knocking again, off to his right and still as distant as before, and it made him pivot. Where was it coming from? He’d approached where it had seemed to come from before, but now it seemed to be coming from where he’d been when he heard it the first time.  
            Regardless of the trivial nature of it, he headed back over to the fireplace and gave the area another once-over. Finally, he noticed the mirror. Curiosity overcame him. He stepped toward the reflective surface. What he’d expected to see, he wasn’t sure. But it definitely hadn’t been Evangeline, staring back at him, matching his expression of growing shock for each detail.  
            It was the sound of a window opening that finally snapped him out of his daydream. He sat up straight at the table as his eyes flicked around the room before falling on the doorway into the kitchen.  
            _That was the kitchen window._  
            Trying not to let his anxiety get the better of him, he stood up from his chair and stepped closer to the kitchen. His heart was racing, but he managed to keep his breathing quiet. He’d planned to approach and peak in, but this wound up being unneeded, as he heard light footsteps beginning to approach the dining room. Each step filled him with further suspense. He wanted to run, but found himself frozen beside the table. All of a sudden, he felt something in his right hand, and he looked down at it. There, he found the pansy that he’d picked up in Sanity’s house, and he squinted his eyes at it.  
            Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone appear in the doorway to the kitchen. When they saw him, they jolted before stopping dead in their tracks with a familiar gasp. He took his time in turning his head to take in the sight of them.  
            As he’d guessed by the sound of her voice, there stood Evangeline. She was wearing her scarf, as usual, and was again wearing her two purple shirts, but no purse. Judging by her face, she was as surprised to see him standing there as he was to see her in his house.  
            “Adam . . . I thought you’d be upstairs,” she confessed.  
            “What are you doing here?” he asked, stunned.  
            “I came to apologize.”  
            “You broke in!”  
            “Well, I tried knocking, but you didn’t answer . . .”  
            Not knowing what else to do, he shook his head and took a step closer to her. “You can’t be here, Evangeline.”  
            “Wait, please!” She moved closer to him and grabbed his upper arms just above the elbows. “Don’t make me leave yet,” she pleaded. “Hear me out!”  
            He sighed, but decided to allow her to speak rather than push her away. “Go ahead.”  
            “I know,” she began, “that you’re too old for me. I know that you’re already married, and that you’re probably more than content with your life without me in it. But when I saw you in person for the first time, I . . .” She bit her lip. “I felt like I was seeing an angel. And you spoke to me the same way you spoke to me online. Then we went to the coffee shop together, and I’d never been so happy to kill time with someone. I’ve dated people before, and I know what it’s like to have a crush. I know you think that I’m too young to know what real love feels like, but I’d beg to differ!”  
            She looked up at him, and her eyes met his, pleading for him to understand. But he was still uncertain, so she continued, “Adam Keir, I love you. And I’ll admit that I would let you go, I would let you be happy with your wife, if I didn’t know that you loved me back. But I do! I wasn’t sure at first, but then you put me in your video . . . You changed your art style just to make me beautiful.” She was beginning to tear up, and her voice cracked as she kept trying to convince him. “You even gave her a—a pansy pin, because you thought that I looked prettier than the pansy at the coffee shop . . . You’ve never drawn a character that looked like your wife, but you drew me . . . You wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t love me, admit it!”  
            Adam, staring down at her, didn’t know what to say. She had a point: though Sanity was meant to be the first and only character modelled after Larisa, he’d changed his mind and turned her into Evangeline.  
            _But that doesn’t mean that I love her . . . does it?_  
            “So, I can’t . . . I can’t sit back and let you deny it! I can’t let you give away your life to someone you don’t love!”  
            Adam wasn’t the type of guy to shout. But when he heard Evangeline say that, he grabbed her arms the same way she held his, and in a burst of passion, he argued, “Now you listen here, Eve: I _do_ love Larisa! I wouldn’t have married her if I didn’t!”  
            Though he shook her as he yelled, there was no fear on her face this time. Instead, in a low, certain voice, she countered, “But you love me more.”  
            His anger disappeared, and he gazed at Evangeline with a guilty look written across his face. There were a few beats of silence, during which neither of them moved. Then, Evangeline let go of Adam’s arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and, making use of the way he’d hunched over to yell at her, she moved her face closer to his. Then, she kissed him.  
            The moment her frosty pink lips met his, Adam’s turmoil vanished. She broke the kiss and looked at him, and he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in for another. Her small body fit against his perfectly, as if she’d been made for him, and her lips tasted like sweet caramel. As he tilted his head to kiss her deeper, he found out that she was a great kisser, too. He felt her hands around his neck, one of them reaching up and digging into his hair so that he could feel her nails against his scalp.  
            Before he knew it, he was lifting her up onto his waist and turning around. Looking down into his eyes, she giggled in utmost glee before kissing him again. He laid her down onto the table, knocking his coffee mug to the floor in the process. She stared up at him with a demure smile, and, laying over her, he stared back.  
            “I love you,” she said on a breath.  
            Under her spell, he closed his eyes, leaned in, and  
            “Adam?”  
            He opened his eyes, and suddenly he was somewhere else. Disoriented, he looked straight ahead; Larisa was there, sitting across from him. They were in a booth at a restaurant that Adam vaguely recognized.  
            “Hell _ooo_?” She snapped her fingers at him. “Earth to Mr. Keir?”  
            “What . . . ?” He started turning his head, desperately trying to figure out what was going on.  
            _Why am I here? What happened? Why am I with Larisa right now?_ Where’s Evangeline _??_  
            “You’ve been out of it all day. What’s up with you?” his wife asked.  
            He looked at her, dismayed. “What day is it?”  
            She raised a brow. “Wednesday,” she answered. “The 25 th.”  
            “But . . . But isn’t it Tuesday? Wasn’t it just Tuesday?”  
            “Um . . . If by ‘just’ you mean ‘yesterday’, yeah. Are you feeling all right, honey?”  
            His mind reeled. _Oh, God. Don’t call me that. Not after what I did with Evangeline . . . !_ Head in his hands, he let out a low, unsettled groan.  
            “Adam?”  
            “No, I’m not all right,” he moaned. “What happened yesterday?”  
            “I’m not sure. You were asleep when I got back.”  
            “Alone?”  
            “What?”  
            “Was I _alone_?”  
            Larisa glanced off into the restaurant, uncertain and, perhaps, suspicious. “Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t you be?”  
            He sighed and laid his arms on the table. “No reason,” he muttered. She tried to meet his eyes, but he couldn’t bear to look at her.  
            With a defeated huff, she put her purse down on her side of the table. “I have to use the restroom,” she told him. “I’ll be back.”  
            Bobbing his knee under the table, he hummed at her. She stood up, and he watched her disappear into the hallway that the restrooms were in. He tried to calm down. But when he glanced at her purse, he saw a pansy sticking out of it, and the sight brought him ever closer to the edge.  
            _Oh,_ God. _I’m about to snap. I’m losing my mind . . . !_  
            Desperate to find out what was going on, he reached for his back pocket. Thankfully, his phone was still there. He pulled it out and went straight to Twitter once it had connected to the restaurant’s free Wi-Fi. No messages from Evangeline. So, he wrote to her first.  
            “What happened yesterday? – Adam”.  
            She didn’t respond, so he looked out of the window to his right. In the parking lot, he saw his car, but it wasn’t empty. He could barely make out the silhouette of someone in the driver’s seat.  
            _Is . . . Is that . . ._ me _?_  
            He rubbed his eyes to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things. But when he opened them, he was again somewhere else. This time, the first thing he saw was his own reflection, in a full-length mirror. He was wearing a fancy suit, with a black waistcoat, bow-tie, and a white scarf draped over his shoulders.  
            _This is the suit that I drew Madness in . . ._  
            He was too afraid to move—too afraid that something else unusual would happen, and that with it, he’d completely . . .  
            _. . . lose myself to madness._ Now, the sight of himself in the suit possessed a new and terrifying connotation. He stood, petrified but trembling, staring at himself with eyes glossed over from fright.  
            _But have I, already?_  
            He heard someone in stilettos step into the room. Then, leaning in to kiss his cheek, she appeared in the mirror: Evangeline. Upon seeing her head in his reflection, he whipped around to look at her. She was wearing the same makeup that he’d put on Sanity: blue eye shadow, pink lipstick, dark eyeliner. Her dress was brown, like Sanity’s coat and skirt, and he recognized the dress to be one of Larisa’s. In her hair, a barrette, was a fresh pansy.  
            “You look so handsome,” she gushed in her chipper, eager-sounding voice.  
            He wanted to ask her what was going on, but couldn’t find his voice. So, instead, he stared at her, helpless, afraid, and horribly displaced.  
            _This doesn’t feel like a dream. None of this has felt like a dream. Where am I?_ When _am I? For the love of God, someone help me!_  
            Evangeline wrapped her skinny arms around one of his, and nuzzled against his sleeve. “I’m so happy that we’re together now,” she told him. “We’ll never be apart again, will we?”  
            “ _Adam?_ ”  
            The girl moved in closer to him, and he watched her in his reflection as she whispered in his ear: “Happy Birthday, Adam.”  
            “Adam!”  
            Then, he was staring at a ceiling. He felt pain on his forehead, but was too disoriented to care. Larisa appeared above him, looking down at him (kneeling beside him?) with a look of genuine concern on her face. One hand went to his shoulder, and the other to his cheek.  
            “Honey? Talk to me,” she begged.  
            “What happened?” he asked, his voice small and nervous. “Where are we?”  
            “You fell over and hit your forehead on the corner of the table,” she told him, only answering half of his question. The other half of the answer he got by sitting up, when he saw the booth he’d been sitting in before. He heard other patrons whispering to each other about the scene that he had inevitably caused. Larisa had her purse now, and from it she pulled out a bag of tissues. She took one of said tissues and pressed it against his forehead, which stung more than he’d anticipated.  
            “You’re bleeding,” she said in a worried voice.  
            He grabbed her wrist without meaning to, and told her, “We should go.”  
            “I’m taking you to a hospital.”  
            “No, let’s go home.”  
            “That gash looks pretty bad,” she argued.  
            “Let’s go _home_ ,” he insisted.  
            Reluctant as she was, Larisa only shook her head before agreeing. “Fine, but if you so much as slur a word, I’m turning the car around and driving straight to the nearest hospital.” As she stood up and collected herself, he noticed his phone on the floor and grabbed it. He didn’t look at it until he and Larisa were in the car. Holding the tissue against his head, he saw a new message from Evangeline, in reply to the message he’d sent her. He read them both.  
            “What happened yesterday? – Adam”.  
            “Huh? What are you talking about? I haven’t seen you since Monday . . . ~ Eve”.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tuesday, November 14th.

“Why were we at a restaurant?” Adam asked, holding an ice pack over the bandage on his forehead. As he spoke, he sat at the dining table, staring at his phone. The message from Evangeline was still open. Though he must have read it a hundred times, he still couldn’t figure out if it was the truth.  
            Larisa was behind him, in the kitchen. She wasn’t doing anything in there from what he could tell, but more went in there to avoid being in the same room as him.  
            “You don’t know?” she asked back. “What _do_ you remember?”  
            “Nothing,” he answered, finally putting his phone down. “All I remember is that it was Tuesday the last time I was conscious.”  
            “Okay,” she groaned, “let’s try something else then: what do you remember about _Tuesday_?”  
            He gazed at the honey flower in the palm plant on the table, but didn’t see it. No, what he saw was Evangeline’s face as he looked down at her the day before. She mouthed the words “I love you”, and he heard them as clear as day. Disgruntled, he rubbed his hand down his face.  
            “Nothing,” he said again.  
            “Nothing?” He heard Larisa step into the doorway. “You don’t remember yesterday either?”  
            “No.”  
            Larisa began tapping her foot against the floor. “I’m worried about you, Adam.” As she returned into the kitchen, she told him, “I think you should see a doctor.”  
            “I don’t need a doctor,” he argued, but not loud enough for her to hear. Then, he lowered the sweating ice pack to the table and inquired, “Is there any coffee?”  
            “Yeah.”  
            “I’d like some,” he said, though he could already hear her pouring him a cup.  
            She stepped over to him and presented him with a different mug. “You’ll have to drink from mine,” she told him as she set it down in front of him.  
            “Why?” he asked.  
            “Your mug’s broken. I found it broken on the floor in here yesterday.” Then, she shrugged. “I was hoping that _you_ could shed some light on that . . .”  
            _My mug’s broken. It shattered on the floor._ He remembered how he’d pushed his mug off of the table to lay Evangeline down on it. _My mug’s broken!_  
            Filled with sudden hope, he blurted, “I pushed it off of the table yesterday. It—It must’ve broke then.”  
            “Why on earth would you push it off of the table?”  
            _Shit, I can’t tell her about Evangeline._ “I don’t know. I can’t recall.”  
            Defeated, Larisa turned and walked back into the kitchen. Adam picked up the mug to drink from it, but couldn’t bring himself to; he was too overwhelmed by his thoughts.  
            _It happened then, didn’t it? I kissed her. No,_ she _kissed_ me _. Then I started making out with her. It must’ve happened, because the mug is broken._ He glanced at his phone. _But then why doesn’t she remember it?_  
            He tried hard to recall what had happened. His hope was that his vivid imagination could help him fill in the missing details. But the instant he saw himself standing in Sanity’s house again, he pulled himself out of it.  
            _No! Another episode of whatever that was is the_ last _thing I need right now._  
            His coffee was black and bitter, but he didn’t care to ask for anything to sweeten it.  
            _I need to get my mind off of her. I need to wash away what happened. Or what_ didn’t _happen. Whatever._  
            He raised his head and looked into the kitchen, at Larisa. Then, he stood up and approached her. When his hands went to her hips, she turned to face him, and he managed a smile at her. She reciprocated it, but had a hard time hiding her concern.  
            “You look tired,” she said. “Does your head hurt much?”  
            “Let’s spend some time together,” he suggested.  
            The way she raised a brow expressed both playfulness and surprise. “That’s unlike you. I thought you’d want to hide away in your office, like you usually do.”  
            “No. I”—it still didn’t come naturally for him, saying things like this—“want you.” He then kissed her. To his disappointment, kissing her was nothing like kissing Evangeline had been. But he kept kissing her regardless. Larisa kissed back until his lips began to trail down her neck, over her throat. Then, she squirmed and pushed him away.  
            “Adam,” she complained. “This isn’t a good idea. You’re not yourself right now.”  
            He didn’t respond. Rather, he stared at her, his mouth shut in a flat line.  
            Larisa pat his shoulder awkwardly and showed him a forced grin. “You should get some rest today. Hitting that table must have scrambled you.”  
            “Yeah,” he said in a flat, displeased voice. “Yeah, I guess so.” He tried not to let it get to him, but the fact that Larisa was now refusing him instead of the other way around was a bad sign to him.

* * *

The next morning, Adam woke up at 7:48 to no alarm, with no memory of what he’d dreamt that night. There was a note from Larisa taped to the bedroom door.  
            “You should take the day off,” she’d wrote. “Or at least eat breakfast. I made some bacon and eggs for you. They’re in the microwave.” There was a smiley face drawn after this. “Take it easy today! XOXO.”  
            _I need to get out of this house for a while_ , he thought to himself, _and I’m anything but hungry._ So, he did neither of the things she suggested. Without even looking into the kitchen, he headed downstairs once dressed and went straight for the front door. Then, realizing something, he stopped himself. He went back upstairs, to the bedroom, and picked up his work shirt and the bag he carried it in.  
            _I’m not going to forget this again._  
            It was raining again that morning, and after putting on his coat, Adam took his time walking to the pawn shop. His head didn’t hurt too much, besides a faint headache. Things still felt disordered, but he’d walked to Waller’s Pawn Shop so many times that the commute was almost automatic. He was grateful to not have to think about how to get there, because if he did, he felt he would’ve lost his way in seconds.  
            When he entered, Jesse was sitting in silence at his computer. He looked up, but then seemed surprised to see him.  
            “Oh, you’re here!”  
            Adam felt a painful twinge in his head at the chipper sound of Jesse’s voice, but he did his best to push through it. “Yeah,” he responded.  
            “I didn’t know whether to expect to see you today,” Jesse confessed as Adam moved toward the bathroom. He got up and followed his friend, leaning in the doorway as he set down the bag his shirt was in. “Larisa called me this morning and told me about what happened to you yesterday.”  
            “How thoughtful,” Adam groaned and pulled off the shirt he was wearing.  
            “Are you going to be all right, man? She made it seem like you were really out of it.”  
            Holding his work t-shirt in his hands, Adam hesitated. “I don’t know,” he admitted. But after pulling on his shirt, he insisted, “I’ll be fine. I’m sure I’ll get over whatever this is.”  
            “You sure?” Jesse narrowed his eyes, not seeming quite so convinced.  
            “Yeah. You know me, Jess; I have off days. Hell, off weeks sometimes, or even off _months_.”  
            “Sure. But if this were like that, I don’t think your wife would’ve called me.” When Adam didn’t answer, he sighed and added, “I _do_ know you, Adam. Maybe more than she does. Because of that, I know that when you say you’re fine . . .”  
            Adam glared at him. “Are you accusing me of lying?”  
            Jesse shook his head. “I wouldn’t call it lying. _White_ lying, maybe.”  
            “What reason would I have to lie about my own wellbeing?” hissed Adam as he tugged his work shirt on, his head disappearing momentarily in the fabric.  
            “You don’t want to worry Larisa.” His friend let out an anxious huff. “You don’t want to worry _me_. But you can’t keep bottling everything up like this, Adam. It’s not healthy. Let me in, man; let me bear some of the weight of whatever’s stressing you out. If not me, let someone _else_ in, but for god’s sake, talk to somebody!”  
            “What do you want me to do?” Adam accused, “You want me to talk to a shrink, don’t you? To go crawling to some pretentious rich guy in a leather chair, and talk to him about things he could never understand?”  
            “Yeah, I do!” Jesse stood up straight, looking down at Adam somewhat. “So long as you get it off of your chest, I don’t care even if you talk to a brick wall!”  
            “I don’t need a psychologist, Jesse. I’m not going to pay a man to listen to me just for him to label me as ‘depressed’ or ‘insane’ and not _give a_  
_damn_ about it!”  
            Defeated, Jesse threw up his hands and rolled his eyes. “Fine, geez,” he muttered. “Didn’t know you had such strong feelings about anything, much less psychologists . . . Still think you should see one, though. I mean, you’re kind of paying them _to_ give a damn.”  
            “To _pretend_ to, maybe,” argued Adam, “by asking pointless questions.”  
            Jesse raised a brow, now intrigued. “Have you seen a psychologist before, Adam?” He hummed in thought. “Now that I think about it . . . There _was_ a year where I didn’t see you that much. You kept saying you were busy, if you answered me at all. Is _that_ where you were?”  
            Adam only stared a hole through him, so Jesse wisely backed down from the subject. The two of them then returned to their desk, Jesse with a pep in his step, and Adam dragging his feet across the carpeted floor. After they sat down, Adam started to feel bad.  
            _I shouldn’t have bit his head off like that. He’s only concerned about me. But there’s no way he could ever understand what happened back then . . ._  
            “Is that from when you hit your head?”  
            Adam glanced at Jesse, but didn’t meet his gaze. “Hmm?”  
            “Larisa said that you hit your head. Is that why you’ve got that Band-Aid on?”  
            “Oh. Yeah. I haven’t seen it myself, but I got a pretty bad gash.”  
            “How?”  
            “Apparently I slammed my head into the corner of a table.”  
            “Ooh, ouch. Does it hurt right now?”  
            “No, but I do have a headache.”  
            “No shit.” Jesse chuckled. “You could’ve stayed back from work today if you wanted, you know? I wouldn’t have minded.”  
            Adam slowly shook his head, being careful not to hurt himself. “I needed to get out of the house,” he said.  
            “Thanks for coming anyway,” Jesse responded with a small smirk. “It’s nice not being alone in here.”  
            “Better for the customers, too, I bet,” snarked Adam.  
            “Oh, God. You wouldn’t believe. I had a guy run out last Friday because he walked in while I was rocking out to ‘Feed My Frankenstein’.”  
            Able to picture the scene in its suggested melodrama, Adam managed a weak snicker.  
            “Speaking of . . .” Jesse went to YouTube and looked at an 80s music playlist he’d saved, set to Shuffle. “Do you mind?”  
            Adam gave his hand a dismissive wave and grumbled, “Not if you don’t blast it loud enough for The Universal Church to hear.”  
            Jesse let out a smug “heh” before clicking play. The first song that came on was “Jessie’s Girl” by Rick Springfield. He only needed to hear the first ten seconds (including the line “ _Jessie is a friend_ ”) before he skipped the track, flustered.  
            Adam realized why, and he grinned. “No, no,” he insisted, “let it play. You’re the one who wanted to listen to 80s music.”  
            “Nah, that song’s . . .” Jesse squirmed and abandoned his comment. “I’ll see if I can remove it later.”  
            “ _You know I wish that I had Jessie’s girl_ ,” Adam mocked quietly.  
            “Shut up. This is better.” Then, the sax solo from George Michael’s “Careless Whisper” started playing. They laughed, but then decided to let the song play anyway, since they both felt it to be a guilty pleasure.  
            Adam was all right until he heard the chorus—the line “ _Should’ve known better than to cheat a friend, and waste the chance that I’ve been given_ ”. Then, his mood dampened, but he couldn’t tell if it was because Larisa was cheating on him, or because he was fairly certain that he’d cheated on her, too.  
            Part of him thought, _how could I have done such a thing, even in my head?_ But the other part argued, _well, she had it coming._

* * *

That night, he got another direct message from Evangeline, albeit an unexpected one. All she did was pose to him a question of her own: “Do you love me? ~ Eve”.  
            For a long while, he only stared at his phone, unsure of how to respond.  
            _If she’s asking me this, does it mean that she remembers Tuesday, too? Or is she asking it for another reason?_ Either way, he was still able to reason with himself; _I couldn’t love her, even if I wanted to. It hasn’t been long enough!_  
            “No. – Adam”, he wrote, but hesitated. It sounded so brusque and rude. _But if I lighten the blow, she’ll think that I’m not serious._ He changed it to “Sorry, but I’m afraid not. – Adam”, then sent it.  
            “It’s okay,” she replied. “I know you’ll see the truth soon enough.” Smiley face. “~ Eve”.  
            “The truth, Eve, is that I can’t love you. I’m married, you’re too young for me, and, not to mention, we’ve only known each other for a little over a week.”  
            “A little over two weeks. Not one. Two. ~ Eve”.  
            “Whatever. My point is that even if we spent more time getting to know each other, there are still two things preventing me from being able to fall in love with you. You’re a nice girl, though, and I hope you find a decent boyfriend of your own age. Don’t let your crush on me block your eyes to others who might actually be able to reciprocate your feelings. – Adam”.  
            She gave no answer.  
            He tossed and turned in bed for an hour beside Larisa, who slept like a log. There was no sleep to be had for him; his mind wouldn’t stop running over not just his conversation with Evangeline, but the terrible memories of his worst year. Try as he might, every minute that passed by made resting seem like more and more of an abstract possibility. Still, he persevered. With his back turned to Larisa, he curled up and forced his eyes to shut. Shutting up his thoughts was the tricky part; his body was exhausted, but his brain could go on forever, it seemed.  
            Five minutes must have passed before his mind finally began to relax. But before he could drift off, he felt someone get into the bed, between himself and Larisa. He assumed that he’d imagined it, or that it was only Larisa turning over, but then a hand reached over his shoulder and lovingly rubbed his cheek.  
            _I’ve spent so long trying to fall asleep. Should I ignore it?_ When the hand started rubbing his shoulder, making him admittedly rather uncomfortable, he sighed and decided to look at his wife. But when he turned over, he didn’t see Larisa there. Instead, lying beside him was Evangeline. He was too stunned to make a noise, much less do anything.  
            She kissed him once, then twice. The third time, he returned the gesture automatically, against his own will. Before he knew it, they were making out again, and he had moved his wide chest over her tiny one to kiss her deeper.  
            _What has she done to me? God, I can’t control myself!_  
            When the young girl’s slender hand moved down and cupped his groin, he looked to his left. Larisa was facing them, but was still out like a light.  
            _No. No, I can’t do this. Not right beside her!_  
            When he tried to pull away from Evangeline, she wrapped both of her arms around him to keep him close. So, he put his hands on his shoulders and, desperate to get away from her, tore himself out of her hold. He nearly fell to the floor, but managed to stick the awkward landing enough to rush away from the bed. When he looked back, he discovered that Evangeline was no longer there. The only person still lying there was Larisa, who stirred a bit and nothing more.  
            Panicked to a degree, Adam looked over his shoulder. When he still didn’t see her, he hurried into the bathroom, where he flicked on the light and twisted on the faucet. Four times, he splashed freezing water onto his face, gasping involuntarily each time. Then, he clutched the sides of the sink and whipped his head up to look at himself in the mirror.  
            He didn’t look as disheveled as he’d expected. His messy hair could be resolved with some water, and the bags under his eyes weren’t any worse than normal. But the look on his face screamed overwhelming anxiety and uncertainty. He’d never seen himself look so desperate before, and that realization did nothing to sooth him.  
            _Where did she go? Is she still in the house? No, she can’t be. I would’ve heard her. I would’ve_ seen _her! So, did I imagine her, then? I couldn’t have; I felt her. I felt her kisses, her breath, her_ body heat _! She was_ here _, goddamn it! She must have been!_  
            _But it’s not possible for her to have been. People don’t just disappear like that, and I didn’t even hear her open and close the bedroom door. She wasn’t here . . ._ He gazed deep into his reflection’s eyes, seeing the terror in them for himself. _Am I going crazy?_  
            The thought rattled him to the core. He’d always considered himself to have questionable mental health, but now that insanity was a real possibility, he found himself scared to death of it. He’d never been so frightened, not once in his near-35 years alive.  
            _No, I’m not crazy. I’m not. I can’t be! I’m perfectly sane, I’m just . . . stressed. Yes, stressed, that’s it! I’m stressing out, because of . . . because . . . because Larisa’s cheating on me. That’s got to be it!_ He looked down at the sink—at the water swirling into the drain—as he chewed anxiously at his lower lip. _I’m_ not _crazy. I only saw and felt what I did so vividly because it was a dream. Or maybe I use my imagination so often that it’s become more powerful. The bottom line is: Evangeline wasn’t here, but I’m not going crazy._  
            Having talked himself into some façade of composure, he looked back at his reflection. Now he seemed calm and aloof, as he normally did. He had to wonder how much longer he would be able to bottle up and hide his feelings like this, behind a mask of sangfroid. Jesse was right: if he didn’t open up to someone, then sooner or later, the mask was bound to shatter, and then everyone would know then how unstable he truly felt. But for the time being, he was still able to disguise his vulnerability, and as long as he was able to, he would.  
            Using hands that he forced to remain stable, he slicked his hair back. He made himself forget that anything unusual had happened. It was a normal night, he convinced himself, only a normal night and a case of insomnia. No psychologists required. Then, half convinced, he made his way back into the bedroom, hoping to finally get some much-needed sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on Tuesday, November 21st.

He went to the store that Friday, rather than to the pawn shop. As much as he tried to convince himself that this wasn’t the case, he knew that he only did it to avoid Jesse for the day. If he went back looking the way he did—disheveled from not sleeping—he was almost certain that Jesse would bring up psychologists again. So, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to handle that, Adam walked to the store (since Larisa had the car for work), intent on making up a list of things to buy once he got there.  
            Despite being long, the walk to the store was as close to relief as Adam could get. There was no hurry to get there, so he could go as fast or as slow as he desired. Every half a block, he would sprint for a burst to keep his troubled mind off of the unhealthy cocktail of negative emotions brewing inside him.  
            He arrived at the store without incident. In fact, as he picked up a basket to shop with and made his way into the medicine aisle, he felt calm for the first time in four days. The first thing he put into his basket was a box of acetaminophen tablets. They hadn’t helped him yet, but by this point they felt like a necessity. After retrieving them, he hurried out of the aisle, not wanting to risk looking at any other medications.  
            Along with the acetaminophen, he put coffee and bread into his basket. He felt like everyone in the store was watching him, and he felt a bead of sweat run down his temple. For whatever reason, he didn’t feel welcome. He felt like an outcast, like everyone was expecting him to snap.  
            When he saw Evangeline across the store, he hoped that she hadn’t already noticed him. But, of course, she had, and when she saw him looking at her, she beamed and started walking over.  
            _No. No, don’t you dare talk to me right now. I wouldn’t be able to take it._  
            In a vain effort to escape her, he ducked into the nearest aisle and hurried down it. Once out, he hid between it and the next for a beat before rushing past a few. The aisle he turned into, four away from where he’d begun, was the pasta aisle.  
            _This is stupid. I can’t hide from her, not here._  
            He left the aisle, heading into the produce section near the ATM. The fruit stands caught his eye. Or rather, the apple sitting in the pile of bananas did.  
            _An apple . . . The forbidden fruit._ His hand drew itself to his throat. _I’ll choke if I eat it._ Then he lowered his hand and shook his head at himself. _I’m thinking too metaphorically. It’s only an apple that Evangeline moved for fun . . ._  
            The discovery that his escape maneuver hadn’t been as stealthy as he’d hoped came in the form of Evangeline’s happy, dimpled face poking itself into his view. It took his eyes a second to refocus, but when they did, he noticed her beautiful smile, and it sent a chill down his spine.  
            “I told you, I do this on a regular basis,” she bragged about her “joke”. “I’m glad that you noticed it again!”  
            He wanted to speak—to tell her to go away, or _something_ , but his words caught in his throat before he could say them.  
            Evangeline, interpreting his silence, sighed and moved her hands behind her back. As she wobbled on her toes like a child, she looked down and said, “Listen . . . I’m sorry about Monday. I hope you’re not still angry with me.”  
            Adam shook his head again. Finding his voice, he managed to mumble, “No. I’m not angry.”  
            The girl looked up at him. “Really? That’s a relief . . .”  
            There was an awkward pause, during which they only stared at each other. It ended when Adam asked, “Do you . . . really not remember Tuesday?” He needed to know for sure whether he’d imagined it. So, he watched her reaction . . . or rather, the lack thereof.  
            “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I tried to message you all day Tuesday, and you never responded. What happened?”  
            _I guess I imagined it, then. But it felt so real . . ._ “Nothing. Forget it.”  
            Evangeline reached up and placed her delicate hand onto his upper arm, causing him to yank himself away as though her touch burned him through his coat. But she only did it again, unfazed by his rejection.  
            “No, please, tell me,” she beckoned. “What do you remember happening between us on Tuesday? If it’ll make you feel better, I can _pretend_ to remember it!”  
            He pushed her hand off of his bicep and looked away from her to hide his irritation. “Evangeline,” he groaned.  
            “I only want to make you happy,” she told him. Then, before he could move away, she embraced him. “I love you, Adam. Let’s be happy now so that we can be happy together later.”  
            Something in Adam snapped, and he found himself shoving Evangeline off of himself, dropping his basket in the process. “God _damn_ it, Evangeline,” he screamed at her, “why can’t you understand? We will _never_ be together! I don’t have any feelings for you! I’m a grown man, and you’re a little girl—compared to me, you’re a _child_! Nothing will, or ever _could_ , happen between us! _Grow up and see that we wouldn’t stand a_ chance _together_!”  
            The look that Evangeline gave him was one of both shock and utmost betrayal. He watched her heart break in her eyes, blue now, as he’d remembered them being the first time he saw her. Something in her died at his shrill, harsh words; he could see it as her pretty smile slipped off of her face.  
            He was more surprised that he’d said those things to her, never mind _screamed_ them for the whole store to hear. Usually he kept things like that to himself. His words hadn’t even been directed at her—his raging bellows an attempt to convince _himself_ of their truth more than her. That realization alone made watching Evangeline’s happiness shatter into a million pieces the most painful thing he’d ever done. He wanted to reach out and hold her, apologize for the horrible things he said. But then, he looked around.  
            Everyone in a certain radius was staring at them. _No, not at us . . . at_ me _._ They stared at him, some in concern, some in confusion, but all wondering if he was crazy—if the little girl in front of him was in danger. He looked back at Evangeline, who had lowered her head and was now staring at his feet. Whether she saw them or was lost deep in heartache, he couldn’t tell.  
            _I can’t touch her. If I do anything other than leave, I’ll be in trouble._  
            So, he turned around and took two steps away . . . and then stopped.  
            _God . . . I can’t just leave her like that!_  
            He looked over his shoulder at her. She was still staring at the ground. Even from there, he could see the liquid bubbling up in her eyes. Overwhelmed, Adam ripped his eyes off of her before he could see any tears roll down her cheeks. After a much needed sigh, he reached up and slicked his hair back with both hands, but then left them on his head. Without looking back at her, he said, “I’m sorry.”  
            He didn’t wait to hear a response. Instead, only a second after uttering his apology, he rushed to the exit closest to him and left the store. Then, after briskly walking across the parking lot, he took off running toward home. Even when he started to run out of breath, he didn’t stop. He only pushed himself to run faster, paying little attention to where he was going, but assuming that his legs were taking him in the right direction.  
            A feeling of claustrophobia washed over him as he ran. It felt as though walls were closing in around him, intent on stopping him in his tracks forever, hindering his progress. He would never get home, the walls would make sure of that. So, he had to outrun them.  
            Or were they walls at all? He recalled his scrapped video idea from two weeks prior, about a man lured away from his wife by a spider. It dawned on him then: he’d become the man, and he was at the stage where he was trying to run from the spider. How long before she dragged him back? How long before she wrapped him in her web and started eating him alive?  
            Something large, dark, and loud cut him off, so close that he felt the force of it rip the air out of his lungs through his mouth, like it was yanking out his soul. A loud, deep sound pierced the air. Because of how startled he was, he stopped so fast that he fell back. He looked up and panted from exhaustion and fright.  
            _A train . . . I almost ran into a passing train._  
            The loud sound was the horn, and it lasted only a second more before fading away. Then, the train flew past, continuing down the track.  
            Adam sat there for a moment longer, struggling to catch his breath. When he looked down at the tracks, though, he saw something that made him breathe quieter. Slowly, he got onto his hands and knees. Then, he crawled over, narrowing his eyes to make sure he was seeing it correctly.  
            There was a pansy growing out of the ballast.

* * *

 _His mother was sitting beside him, reading a magazine. On the cover, he could read the words “1994’s Greatest Hits!” Besides them and a receptionist behind the desk to his left, the waiting room was empty. There were little touches around the room—plush chairs, plants, a coffee table with magazines on it—that were, in his opinion, a pitiful attempt to make people like him feel comfortable._  
            _There was a calendar on the wall across from where he sat that was opened to November. That was correct, but no indication was made of what date it was, since nothing was crossed off._  
            _He wasn’t too sure why he and his mother were there, and he wanted nothing more than to leave. But every time he stood up to go, his mother demanded that he sit back down. They’d been waiting for what could’ve been either a few minutes or half an hour, he wasn’t sure. Last month, he’d lost his sense of time, and he still hadn’t recovered from it. Was that why they were there? Somehow, he doubted it._  
            _Out of the room they were waiting to get into stepped a man in his mid-twenties, wearing a crisp brown suit. His mother looked up at him, then she put her hand on her son’s shoulder. When he didn’t react to it, the man in the suit stepped closer._  
            _“Adam, right?” It was hard to tell if he was asking him or his mother. He assumed it was him when he continued, “Come into my office. Let’s talk, hmm?”_  
            _Reluctantly, Adam got up from his chair and followed the man. He didn’t look back at his mother._  
            _The office was as homey as the waiting room, with filled bookcases on either side. There was a desk at the far end of the room. A burgundy carpet spanned across the entire floor, suiting the golden-orange wallpaper. In the center of the room were two chairs, both made of brown leather. One was squared and supportive, and the other was a chaise longue._  
            _As the man in the suit headed for the squared chair, he gestured to the chaise longue and said, “Have a seat on the sofa, Adam. Make yourself comfortable.”_  
            _Adam did as he was supposed to, and laid down on it. He felt anxious. Upon hearing the man cross his legs, he looked over at him, hoping that his uncertainty came across on his face._  
            _The suited man, with one leg laid over the other, held a pen between his hands. “Don’t be nervous,” he said in a comforting tone. “My name is Dr. Frost, and I’m here to help you. Do you know why you’re here today, Adam?”_  
            _Adam turned his head and looked at the ceiling. “No,” he answered in a meek voice. “. . . Do_ you _?”_  
            _Dr. Frost leaned back in his seat. “Yes, I do. Your mother told me everything.”_  
            _Again, Adam looked at him. “Can you tell me?”_  
            _The psychologist shook his head. “I think it’s better for both of us if you could remember for yourself. That way, we can work through it together.”_  
            _“Together”. That was a word that Adam didn’t use very often. He liked doing things—_ coping _with things—alone. His eyes wandered up, toward Dr. Frost’s desk. There was a vase on it that caught his eye; a little white one with blue petals painted onto it. Sticking out of it was a flower that Adam didn’t know the name of, but it was the prettiest thing he’d seen all day, even all month. The sight of it calmed him somehow. It was as if the flower was a sign that everything was going to be all right._  
            _He must’ve noticed a change in Adam’s demeanor upon the sight of the flower, because Dr. Frost immediately wrote something down. Then, he asked, “Do you like it, Adam?” Ending the question with the boy’s name signified the beginning of what would become a regular pattern of speech between them. Perhaps he liked the way the simple name rolled off his tongue, or how it sounded to his ears in his own accent. Either way, Adam felt the same for his: “Dr. Frost” sounded like it would never stop being fun to say._  
            _Adam nodded, answering the question without taking his eyes off of the five-petaled flower._  
            _“How does it make you feel?”_  
            _“Safe,” he answered on impulse._  
            _Dr. Frost wrote again in his notebook. “Do you know what kind of flower it is, Adam?”_  
            _The twelve-year-old on the sofa shook his head._  
            _In response, the doctor leaned forward, crossing his arms over his legs. “It’s a pansy,” he told him. “It symbolizes thoughts and love, sometimes both. Is there someone dear to you who you’re thinking about right now, Adam?”_  
            _Adam didn’t answer, because he didn’t know how. But he knew, deep down, that there_ was _someone. Someone he didn’t want to remember, because it hurt too much. Someone he must’ve lost very recently. And he knew that Dr. Frost knew it, too._


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on November 28th, 2017.

“What do you mean, a bouquet of flowers?” Adam asked Jesse, while pacing back and forth.  
            “What do you _think_ I mean, dumbass?” Jesse hissed back, a tinge of humor in his voice. “When I got here, it was sitting in front of the door.”  
            Saturday morning was already off to an interesting start. Adam hadn’t slept well, again, and when he arrived at the pawn shop, Jesse told him that there had been a bouquet on the doorstep of the pawn shop. A part of Adam hoped that it was for Jesse, but he knew immediately upon hearing about it that _he_ was its intended recipient. But still, there could be a chance that he was wrong . . .  
            “You must have a secret admirer, Jesse,” he joked anxiously.  
            “I’d hope not,” Jesse replied, “seeing as _your_ name is on it.” From behind the counter, the taller man pulled out the gift in question, and Adam stopped in his tracks to stare at it.  
            In a wrap of light blue papier-mâché, the bouquet contained the two flowers that Adam had seen a lot of lately: pansies and honey flowers. There was a purple string tied around the base that looped through a small card. Jesse held up said card for him to see it closer.  
            “To: _Adam_ ” was written on the top line. The bottom read, “From: _Eve_ ”.  
            “Guess you were right about her liking you,” Jesse quipped.  
            Adam stepped forward and took the bouquet from Jesse with care. He was tempted to throw it out, but something was stopping him from doing so. Picking up the tiny card in his fingers, Adam opened it to see if anything was inside. There, he found this message:  
            “ _If I’m a pansy, then you’re a honey flower. I still believe in us. ~ Eve_ ”.  
            He didn’t know what it meant, but knew that the combination had to have some significance. It occurred to him how pansies had wound up important to him again, after all these years. The last time he’d seen a pansy, it had been the one in Dr. Frost’s office 23 years ago. Now, all of a sudden, he was seeing the flower everywhere he looked. He’d even seen honey flowers in strange places. And now Evangeline had given him a bouquet with the two plants haunting him.  
            _This isn’t a coincidence. It can’t be. What the hell is going on?_  
            “Adam? You still with me?”  
            Adam snapped out of his trance and looked at Jesse. “What?”  
            “Quit fawning over your new girlfriend. You’re with me right now, not her. We’ve got a business to run!”  
            “She’s not my girlfriend.”  
            “Sure, sure.” Jesse gave him an over-exaggerated wink. “Whatever gets you to sleep at night, Romeo.”  
            _Nothing gets me to sleep anymore, Jess_ , he wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead, he forced himself to let out a small chuckle at his friend’s remark. Then, with the bouquet still in his hands, he sat down on his stool.  
            Their first customer for the day was a middle-aged woman who sold them some jewelry. At one point, she tried to speak to Adam, but he ignored her. After she left, Jesse nudged him with his elbow.  
            “Dude, what was that? Did you know her or something?”  
            Adam raised a brow. “Know her? No, I have no idea who she was.”  
            “Then why’d you give her the silent treatment like that?” There was genuine concern in Jesse’s eyes. “You’ve never been passive-aggressive to a customer before.”  
            He opened his mouth to speak, but then realized that he didn’t have an answer.  
            _Why_ did _I ignore her? It wasn’t because she rubbed off on me the wrong way or anything. I don’t understand why I . . ._  
            When he looked down at the jewelry she’d given them, he saw something that answered him. At the top of the pile sat a silver ring with a large garnet gem. His eyes widened when he saw it.  
            He recognized that ring.

* * *

 _“How was your Christmas, Adam?”_  
            _Buried in a new sweater, Adam glanced up at Dr. Frost with a typical, though meaningless, sadness in his eyes. “It was all right,” he answered, “I guess.”_  
            _“That’s good.” The doctor couldn’t mask his boredom. He looked down at his notebook, tapping his pen against it idly. The fact that he didn’t seem to know what to ask anymore offended some part of Adam, and he couldn’t stop himself from inquiring,_  
            _“Do I need to come here anymore, Dr. Frost?”_  
            _“Of course you do, Adam.”_  
            _“Seems like you don’t have much else to say to me, though. Am I wasting your time?”_  
            _Dr. Frost shook his head. Through his teeth, he groaned, “It’s not that. What’s stopping me is you, Adam.”_  
            _The boy narrowed his hazel eyes, which looked brown in the office. “Me?”_  
            _“We’ve been seeing each other for a month, and you still won’t”—he stopped himself, started again with different phrasing. “_ I _still can’t get you to open up to me.” The doctor leaned forward in his seat. “Try to remember, Adam. What happened on your birthday? What happened on_ Halloween _?”_  
            _Adam hesitated for a beat before shaking his head. The only thing that came to mind when he thought about his birthday was . . . was . . ._  
            . . . Overwhelming heat.  
            _“There . . . There was a fire,” he stammered. “Somewhere . . .”_  
            _Dr. Frost finally looked interested, if not grimly serious. After a few seconds of stillness, he gave a small nod, and then leaned back in his chair. He wrote something down, but also furiously crossed something at the top of the page out._  
            _“What did you cross out?” Adam asked._  
            _“Do you remember anything else?”_  
            Adam squinted his eyes and tried to remember. When he couldn’t do that, he let his imagination try to fill in the blanks in the hope that it would bring something back to him. And bring something back it did. Or rather, it brought someone _back._  
            _“A girl. I . . . was with a girl.”_  
            _“What was her name, Adam?”_  
            _He tried to remember, but all he could see of her was a silhouette. “She . . . reached out to me . . . in the fire.”_  
            _“Her name, Adam. Who was she?”_  
            _Before he could think about it further, something about Dr. Frost’s phrasing made Adam’s blood run cold. “Wait . . . Why are you saying ‘was’?”_  
            _Dr. Frost averted his eyes, but didn’t answer._  
            _“Why are you saying that in past tense? Why aren’t you asking me what her name ‘is’? Why ‘what_ was _her name’? She’s_ okay _, isn’t she?_ Isn’t she _?”_  
            _“Is she?”_  
            _The way the doctor turned the tables on him was simple but effective, and it made Adam’s gaze fall to the floor._  
            Oh, God. Oh, God, she’s dead. Am I here because _she’s dead_?  
            _“Adam?”_  
            _“It should’ve been me . . .” The words escaped Adam’s throat, despite not being a conscious thought to him. He said them more from instinct, from the memories he’d buried._  
            _Dr. Frost was quiet for a beat. Then, with a huff, he sat up and clicked a button on the phone on his desk. “Dana, bring a bottle of water for Adam.”_  
            _A few seconds later, the woman at the front desk entered the office. As she approached, holding an unopened plastic water bottle, she noticed their silence, or maybe the way Adam’s face contorted in horror. “Is everything all right?” She asked the doctor._  
            _“Yes,” Dr. Frost answered. “We’re making progress, that’s all.”_  
            _“I see . . .” Dana stepped closer to Adam and knelt in front of him. “Hey. Are you okay?”_  
            _Adam looked down at her and found that she was rather pretty, with her wide, expressive brown eyes and short black bob. She smiled at him with something that wasn’t pity, and then cracked the seal of the water bottle. On the middle finger of the hand she did so with was an extravagant silver ring with a large garnet gem in the center. It caught Adam’s eye, and he stared at it as she offered the bottle to him._  
            _Noticing, she asked, “Do you like it?” She tilted her head back, gesturing at Dr. Frost. “He got it for me as a Christmas present.”_  
            _“Dana,” warned Dr. Frost. “You’re cutting in on Adam’s hour now. Let me talk to my patient alone.”_  
            _The pretty secretary rolled her eyes. Looking at Adam, she asked, “Psychologists, am I right?”_  
            _Adam got a small chuckle out of it. Somehow, in under two minutes, he’d grown to like the secretary more than his doctor. If he had to choose between them, he’d choose to talk to her for the rest of his visits. But then again, he didn’t want to be a burden to her._  
            _The moment Dana left the room, she took all warmth with her, leaving him and Dr. Frost to continue their conversation in what could’ve been ice. It was from then on that the doctor’s surname started to take on a much more literal meaning to Adam._

* * *

“ _Ground Control to Adam Keir_ ,” Jesse sung in a crude mockery of the David Bowie song “Space Oddity”. “ _Your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong. Can you hear me, Adam Keir? Can you_ — _Heeeeere_ . . .”  
            Adam stood up and set the bouquet in his hands down on the counter. “I _do_ know her,” he said. Then, without another word, he dashed for the exit.  
            “Adam? Hey!”  
            He ripped the door open and stepped outside. “Dana!” he called. Looking right, then left, he realized that she wasn’t there. So, he ran toward the parking lot. “Dana, wait!”  
            But he was too late; as he was running, she drove out of the parking lot, then turned right and continued down the road. Though he considered chasing her car to the next stoplight, hoping she’d notice him in her rearview mirror, he decided against it and instead slowed to a stop.  
            Jesse caught up to him only a few seconds later. “She’s gone, dude,” he said. “No sense chasing her.”  
            “I know.” He sighed.  
            “Who is she?”  
            “No one important.”  
            “Well, she must be important to _you_ , at least. Why else would you run after her like that?”  
            Adam looked at him. “Because she just sold us the ring her husband gave her before they got married.”

* * *

When he got home that evening, Adam emptied the vase in the dining room and put the bouquet from Evangeline in it. Already the petals of the pansies were beginning to shrivel, but he hoped the water he added to the vase would breathe life back into them. The honey flowers, on the other hand, were unaffected by the lack of sustenance, which surprised him.  
            The first thing he did after sitting down at the dining table was pull Dana’s ring out of his pocket. He’d had to buy it from Jesse, but it was a small price to pay to make sure that the ring wasn’t sold to someone else.  
            While he was indifferent to the fate of Dr. Frost himself, his wife had always lingered in the back of his mind. Often he’d wondered how she was doing, and comforted himself with the thought that she was fine.  
            _But I guess she isn’t, if she’s selling Dr. Frost’s ring._  
            Had she tried to speak to him because she recognized him? No, he’d changed too much other the years. If he didn’t have a beard, it might’ve been a plausible thought. At least, he _hoped_ she didn’t recognize him, because if she did then he would feel even worse about ignoring her.  
            What troubled him was the question of _why_ she had pawned the ring.  
            _Are they getting divorced?_ Did _they get divorced? But why would they?_  
            _Maybe because Dr. Frost is a pompous, unfeeling prick._  
            _But that never stopped her from showing love to him 23 years ago. What happened between then and now?_  
            A single, conclusive word popped into Adam’s head.  
            _Infidelity._  
            Both Dana and Dr. Frost were attractive (the latter he admitted with contempt). It was hard to tell which of them was more likely to cheat, but he could only assume that it would be the doctor. _Seeing as he acts like a psychopath most of the time, anyway._  
            It was very likely that he was simply projecting his own experience onto them, and that they were breaking up for different reasons. But he couldn’t shake the idea from his head—it made the most sense. Beyond that, it also gave Adam the motivation to do something he’d been hesitating about for too long now.  
            _I need to confront Larisa._  
            By now, she had to know that he knew of her ongoing affair. He was a man, goddamn it—her _husband_. If he sat back and let her cheat without comment, he was labelling himself as a coward in her eyes. Not to mention his indifference made it seem like he didn’t care either way. He used to think that he didn’t, but he did. He looked at the bouquet in front of him, and rather than worry about it, he drew strength from it.  
            _I’m going to do it, Evangeline._  
            Pulling out his phone, he opened Twitter and looked at his conversation with Evangeline. Though he hesitated briefly before doing so, he wrote and sent her a new message.  
            “I’m doing what you wanted me to do. – Adam”.  
            It took her two minutes to reply. Her response was only, “? ~ Eve”.  
            “I’m going to ask Larisa if she’s cheating on me. – Adam”.  
            Her next response, though longer, came quicker. “She’ll deny it if you pose it as a question. Don’t ask her, accuse her. If she doesn’t answer or avoids the subject, she’s guilty. ~ Eve”.  
            The cold, firm way she wrote her response made it clear to Adam how serious she was about this. Somehow, she was _certain_ that his wife was cheating, even more so than he was. But while a part of him thought about how her seriousness should’ve worried him, he found himself liking it.  
            _She’s not acting like an excited little girl about this. All of a sudden, she’s got this mature air to her texts. Is it because I told her to grow up?_  
            He missed her giddy text style, but the new way she wrote to him sent a tingle down his spine. It wasn’t appropriate, especially not in the current context, but he couldn’t deny that he found it to be kind of . . . well, hot. But then, remembering again that he was talking to a 19-year-old girl, he shook his head clear of arousal and put his phone back into his pocket.  
            While he could shake away the affection, though, he couldn’t do the same to the other feeling brought on by her instructions. Her newfound maturity triggered something in him. Gone were his worries and uncertainties. He didn’t care how the situation turned out, whether Larisa would stay with him or not, whether he was right or wrong. Leaning back in his chair, he put his foot up onto his opposite thigh and lounged in wait for Larisa’s arrival.  
            _What just happened? I don’t feel like myself right now . . ._ It was a peculiar feeling, one that he had difficulty explaining, as he was pretty sure he’d never experienced it before. _I don’t feel like Adam Keir anymore . . . Unless Adam Keir is a cold-blooded hunter waiting for unsuspecting prey._  
            Anger wasn’t the right word for the emotion he felt, nor was contempt. But whatever it was, it felt like it was some duller variant of the two. He sat still, staring at the bouquet but not seeing it, lost in his thoughts but not thinking about anything.  
            _Come home, Larisa._  
            Before he knew it, his hands were holding his phone again. He watched his fingers tap on Larisa’s name in his contact list, calling her. Then, he brought the phone up to his ear. And though he did all of this, he felt disconnected from it.  
            _I’m not in control of any of this. My body’s acting on its own. This should scare me, but . . . I feel nothing right now._  
            The phone rung four times before Larisa answered. She sounded vaguely annoyed. “Yup?”  
            “Larisa,” the name flowed out of his throat, and the way he said it even scared _him_ a little. His voice was low and drawn out, with a dark tone to it that he hadn’t known he could pull off.  
            There was a pause before Larisa asked, “Who is this? . . . Adam, is that you?”  
            _No, it’s not. . . . Is it?_  
            “Larisa,” he repeated in the same way. “Come home.”  
            “I’m, uh . . . I’m sorry? Honey, I’m . . . busy, here.”  
            Though she tried to hide it, he could hear the fear in her voice as she replied, and its presence made him smile. He was sure that if he could see himself in a mirror right now, the sight would unnerve him, but that didn’t make him stop. “Come home.”  
            “I can’t, I’m working. Are you all right?”  
            He didn’t answer. Instead, he allowed a tense silence to fill the call.  
            “Um . . . I’ll be home around nine.”  
            _I can wait._ “Okay. Don’t be late.”  
            “I won’t . . .”  
            “Larisa?”  
            “Yes?”  
            “I love you.”  
            There was another long pause.  
            “I love you, Larisa.”  
            “Okay . . .”  
            Adam’s smile twisted into a frown. “Larisa. I _love_ you.”  
            “Yeah, love you too,” she mumbled quickly. “I’ll be home at nine.”  
            “Larisa”—she dropped the call, and he pulled the phone away from his head. “God _damn_ you.” He hung up and put his phone back into his pocket.  
            _I’ll be waiting for you, Larisa . . . God help you if you don’t show up at nine._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on November 29th, 2017.

Larisa didn’t show up until 9:10. The extra ten minutes he’d waited both enraged Adam and made him consider reconsidering. Did he _have_ to confront her? What if he was wrong? But the moment he heard her key twist in the front door’s lock, his hesitance disappeared. There would be no dancing around the issue. The elephant in the room had to be addressed now.  
            After listening to her remove her shoes and coat, he expected her to head into the dining room. Instead, by the sound of it, she started walking upstairs.  
            “Larisa,” he called out, and she froze in her tracks halfway up. “Come in here.”  
            She didn’t move for a few seconds, but when she did, she came back downstairs and did as he asked.  
            “Yeah?” Though she tried to look normal, brushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear, her hands trembled a bit.  
            He gestured to a chair he’d set near himself. “Sit down.”  
            “Listen, I’m really tired—”  
            “Sit _down_.”  
            She didn’t say anything. With slow, reluctant movements, she took her seat. Then, Adam stared at her, willing her to speak in her own defense. But instead, she stared down at her lap and wrung her hands.  
            “You’re late,” he pointed out.  
            “Traffic,” she answered immediately, nearly cutting him off.  
            Adam expressed his disbelief with raised brows, but she didn’t notice, too busy staring at her nails. “That’s funny,” he said.  
            “Why?”  
            “Because traffic isn’t usually bad this late at night. It’s usually bad at, hmm, let’s see . . . rush hour?”  
            “Well, it was,” Larisa mumbled.  
            “What was it that really kept you, Larisa? Your boss? A co-worker?”  
            She squinted. “It was traffic,” she insisted, sticking to her story.  
            Adam stared at her with dissatisfied, hooded eyes.  
            “It _was_!”  
            After a brief pause, Adam came up with something that might rattle her. Leaning back, he said, “You know, you don’t have to be afraid to talk to me. I’m your husband, not a stranger.”  
            “Are you sure about that?” she countered. “Because you aren’t acting a whole lot like my husband.”  
            He leaned toward her. “And what does your husband act like, Larisa? A non-confrontational coward who lives in denial of the truth lying right in front of his face?”  
            “I never said that.”  
            “But you’re not denying it.”  
            She rolled her eyes and let out a huff. “This is stupid. Are you even listening to yourself?”  
            “Describe him for me, then.”  
            “Who?”  
            “Your husband.”  
            “Are you being serious right now?”  
            “Describe Adam Keir for me.”  
            Exasperated she shook her head and threw up her hands. “Um, fine. My _husband_ , who is currently experiencing some sort of psychotic break by the looks of it, is a kind-hearted, gentle, compassionate man.”  
            Adam slammed his hand down on the table. “That’s wrong!”  
            Larisa flinched. “Fine, geez. What, you want me to be brutally honest?”  
            “Murder him with your words.”  
            She hesitated, looking at him in both fear and concern. Then, she said, “My husband’s a quiet man. Doesn’t raise his voice too often. In fact, it’s been years since the last time he’s shouted. He doesn’t like to burden others, and is terrified of embarrassing himself. I’m sure that if he had it his way, he’d want to be a fly on the wall more than a human being.  
            “Things that happen in his life happen without comment. He doesn’t celebrate. He doesn’t mourn or regret. He doesn’t argue. He just . . . accepts. Sometimes I wonder what goes on in his head, whether he feels anything or only pretends to. I mean, he must get angry. Things must bother him, but he never says anything to me if they do. I worry about him, a lot. Worry there might be a day where he’ll . . .” She looked at him, brows twisted. “. . . Snap.”  
            He continued to stare at her, not averting his eyes when they met hers. “Do you think I’ve snapped, Larisa?”  
            She opened her mouth to answer, but then looked away, closed her lips, and gulped. When she finally did speak, she only muttered, “I hope not.”  
            Satisfied, Adam put his leg up and again leaned back. “Let’s not talk about me anymore,” he suggested. “Let’s talk about _him_.”  
            She looked at him again. “Who?”  
            “Don’t ask me. You’re the one who knows him. Who is he?”  
            “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”  
            Adam grinned. “The guy on the phone. The one you call when you think I can’t hear you.”  
            He watched Larisa’s face as it blanched, her eyes widening.  
            “Who is he, Larisa?”  
            She looked down at her lap and didn’t answer.  
            “Why do you call him? It used to be only after I denied your advances because I was busy. But then you called him a few days ago, the morning after we had sex. And you told him that he was better than me, didn’t you?”  
            “Adam,” she stammered guiltily.  
            “You called him tonight, didn’t you? That’s why you were late. I don’t think you had enough time to see him, but you must’ve talked. What did you two talk about, Larisa?”  
            “Adam, what are you suggesting?”  
            “I’m not ‘suggesting’ anything. I’m _telling_ you what I know.”  
            “What, you ‘know’ that I’m having an affair? Because I called someone a few times?”  
            “What you forgot about me, Larisa, is that I don’t often jump to conclusions. But when I do,”—he examined a loose thread sticking out of his sock—“I’m usually right.”  
            “How dare you?”  
            Adam raised his eyes to glare at her. “I should be asking you that. But that wouldn’t be like me, would it? It’d be too out of character for Adam Keir, the soft-spoken, spineless fly on the wall.”  
            “Don’t take my words out of context like that, you bastard!” She stood up from her chair to tower over him. Unintimidated, he looked up at her as she started to rant. “I’m not some two-timing whore, contrary to what you might believe. You mightn’t have any faith in our marriage, but I do! I married you for one reason, Adam, one reason that should’ve dispelled any of your stupid doubts in me. Do you know what it is, Adam? Do you?”  
            Adam didn’t answer. _I don’t know why. I’m not romantic, I’m apparently not that good in bed, and I’m not rich. So . . . why the hell_ did _she marry me?_  
            “I married you, Adam,”—she grabbed his shoulders and shook them—“ _you_ , because I _loved_ you. I _still_ love you!”  
            “Do you?” It was Adam’s turn to stand, and he got into her face. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t be sleeping with another man!”  
            “Adam—”  
            “Tell me the truth. Are you seeing someone else?”  
            Her anger faded, and she looked down at the table.  
            “Well?”  
            “I didn’t know you knew the language of flowers.”  
            “What are you talking about?”  
            She pointed her chin, and Adam looked over his shoulder to see that she was gesturing at the bouquet that Evangeline had left for him.  
            “Are those meant to insult me, too?” With sarcasm, she hissed, “You shouldn’t have.”  
            “They’re only flowers.”  
            “Oh, bullshit. You don’t just buy a bouquet of pansies and honey flowers without knowing what it means. Where did you even get the honey flowers?”  
            “What does it mean?”  
            Larisa looked at him, clearly offended. “Pansies and honey flowers together mean that you’re thinking of forbidden love.”  
            Adam looked at the bouquet. _So it_ does _have a meaning!_ “How do you know that?”  
            She sat down. “I used to have an interest in flowers,” she admitted in a low voice. “Did you really not know that?”  
            “No,” he confessed.  
            With that, Larisa glared up at him. “So, someone gave this to you?”  
            “Someone left it at the pawn shop.”  
            His wife straightened her posture. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”  
            “No. The flowers have nothing to do with this.”  
            “Are you sure? Because you’re accusing me of cheating, but here you are with a bouquet that suggests you might not be so innocent yourself . . .”  
            Finally, Adam got what she was hinting at, and his own eyes widened.  
            “Who is she, Adam?” Larisa hissed, turning the tables on her husband. “How do you talk to her? Through text, right? Twitter? You’ve been on your phone so often recently . . . When do you see her? You see her while I’m at work, right? Her place or yours?”  
            “You’ve got the wrong idea,” he insisted. “She’s a friend, nothing more.”  
            “A friend who bought you a bouquet saying she loves you even if you’re already taken.”  
            “Yes.”  
            “And you have the _nerve_ to accuse _me_ of cheating!” Larisa got up and stormed toward the doorway. Before he knew what he was doing, Adam caught her wrist and pulled her back. His face close to hers, he snarled,  
            “You’re wrong.”  
            “Well, if _I’m_ wrong,” she taunted, “then so are _you_.”  
            _She admitted it! She’s willing to admit it if I do? But I’m not cheating on her . . . Am I?_  
            Larisa pulled her hand free from his, but he only grabbed her again, harder this time. She flinched and tried to break free again, to no avail. His grip was as tight as a vice.  
            _Let her go_ , he told himself. But his body wouldn’t obey.  
            “Adam, let go,” she said.  
            “So, you _are_ cheating.”  
            “What?”  
            “You let the cat out of the bag, Larisa.”  
            “Oh, yeah? How’d I do that?”  
            “Your sarcasm. You don’t think you’re wrong about me cheating. You know I’m lying. But then you said that I was ‘wrong’, too. Meaning that I’m right.”  
            Larisa started to sweat. “Adam, let go of me.”  
            “Tell me the truth, and I will.”  
            “This is a big misunderstanding, that’s all.”  
            He tightened his grip until she gasped in discomfort. “The _truth_.”  
            _Stop it, you’re hurting her._  
            “Adam, you’re scaring me . . .”  
            _Let go of her._  
            “Answer me, Larisa.”  
            She turned her head. “I’m going upstairs.”  
            Snap.  
            Adam yanked Larisa back, and she let out a brief scream.  
            “ _For God’s sake, answer me_!” he screamed at her. “I’d be willing to talk about it peacefully _if you’d only admit it_!”  
            “Adam, stop it!”  
            “ _Are you cheating on me_?”  
            “Adam!” She pounded at his chest with her free hand.  
            “ _Are you_??” He shook her.  
            “ _Yes_!”  
            Adam froze.  
            “Yes . . .” Larisa began crying. “I’m cheating on you! I’m not proud of it, and I’ve been trying to stop, but it’s not that easy . . . !”  
            “With who?”  
            Head in her hand, she sobbed, “I can’t tell you.”  
            “ _With who_?” he demanded.  
            “You don’t know him,” she mumbled.  
            _Stop. I got my answer._  
            Adam let go of Larisa and took a step back. He stared down at her as she cried into her hands, either genuinely ashamed or faking it well. It was his expectation that he would feel the need to comfort her, but, to his surprise, he felt no such urge. In fact, he felt nothing. He wasn’t angry or relieved that she’d confessed. Apathy was all he could feel.  
            But then came a sudden burst of fury. During it, he reached past Larisa and grabbed the vase. He lifted it over his head, ready to hurl it into the wall behind her, and she screamed again. Then, as quickly as it came over him, the fury disappeared. It wasn’t his wife’s scream that stopped him, though. No, it was . . .  
            _Evangeline._  
            He lowered the vase and looked at the bouquet again. The pansy petals that had been dying earlier were now slowly coming back to life. Placated by the sight, Adam put the vase back down. Then, he turned and left the dining room.  
            “Adam?” Larisa said after him.  
            He ignored her and went upstairs. Once there, he went straight into his office and closed the door. For a long moment, he did nothing. Then, he grabbed one of his books and whipped it into the wall. Another joined it, and another, before he finally sat down. It felt like his life was in shambles, and he wanted his office to be representative of that. But he did nothing more. Instead, he lowered his head to the desk.  
            _What should I do? I don’t know what to do._  
            Overwhelmed, he closed his eyes, hoping to will it all away somehow.  
            _I don’t need anyone’s help. Not Dr. Frost’s, not Jesse’s . . . Not anybody’s. I can deal with this. I can forgive and forget, and we can pretend this never happened.  
            _ He would be fine on his own. There would be no need to confide in anyone.

* * *

 _“Adam, let’s talk about_ her _.”_  
            _“Her?” Adam asked, though he already knew who Dr. Frost was referring to._  
            _“The girl in the fire.”_  
            _“The dead girl?”_  
            _“Do you remember who she is yet, Adam?”_  
            _He shook his head._  
            _“How about how the fire started?”_  
            _“No. All I remember is seeing her reaching out for me.”_  
            _“Did she say anything?”_  
            _“She called my name . . .”_  
            _Dr. Frost looked down at his notebook and tapped his pen against his lips. “Last time, you told me that it ‘should’ve been you’. Do you still feel that way?”_  
            _“Yeah,” Adam nodded as he answered quietly. “Of course.”_  
            _“Why?” The psychologist tilted his head in curiosity. “Why should it have been you? What makes you feel that way, Adam?”_  
            _“She was . . .” Adam’s eyes turned down to the floor as the sight of her reaching out to him again haunted him. He remembered the way the fire had made her platinum hair glow a scarlet orange. Under different circumstances, he would’ve found it beautiful. He’d always loved her hair. “She was my best friend.”_  
            _“Was she? Or was she something more?”_  
            _Confused, he looked at his doctor. “Something more? What do you mean?”_  
            _Dr. Frost shrugged. After leaning back in his chair, he suggested something that threw Adam for a loop._  
            _“Are you sure she wasn’t . . .” He paused, gray eyes meeting Adam’s with a tinge of what could’ve been malice. It sent a chill down Adam’s spine, even before he finished his question. “_ Family _?”  
_


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on December 5th, 2017.

The first thing Adam noticed was the rain falling on the windshield. Since the wipers weren’t on, it was near impossible to see past the waves of water running down the glass. All he could hear was the sound of the heavy deluge going on around him.  
            He was in his car, but didn’t know how or why. The last thing he could remember was sulking in his office after arguing with Larisa. Why was he in his car now? More importantly: where was he?  
            It was hard to make out his surroundings past the water, but he could at least tell that he wasn’t in the driveway anymore. He appeared to be in a parking lot, though not one that he recognized. Since he was in the driver’s seat, he must have driven here . . . but why? And _when_? He had no recollection of leaving his office, much less the house.  
            On his lap, he clenched his hands, and in doing so, crumpled something. It felt like paper. Confused, he looked down at his left palm. There he found a scrap of paper. He recognized the color of the lines as being from one of Larisa’s accounting notebooks. Not to mention the various monetary numbers on it.  
            _Why do I have this?_  
            It made little sense, though not as little as his current location. But then in his awe he turned the paper over and saw something on the back: the number “203” scrawled in black pen.  
            _It’s in my handwriting . . ._  
            The mysterious number only confused him further. Without a clue of why he’d written it, but knowing it was somehow important, his only thought was to pocket it, but he didn’t. Instead, with his right hand, he checked to see if he had his cellphone on him. To his surprise it wasn’t in any of his pockets. He didn’t have it. He’d brought only the number, it seemed.  
            _But_ why _?_  
            A sudden clap of thunder made him jolt in his seat. It was too late in October for a thunderstorm . . . He’d have sooner expected snow. It always snowed before his birthday. But now it was storming instead, and he had to wonder if he was imagining it.  
            Thankful that he’d at least had the forethought to bring his jacket, Adam stepped out of the car with hesitance. Harsh winds pelted him with sharp beads of rainwater and made a mess of his already-unkempt bangs. Even despite the coat, he was freezing. Then he saw it, across the street: a big red “6” on the front of a building. He narrowed his eyes at it.  
            _Motel 6? But that’s not in Chicago . . . Where_ am _I?_  
            He sure as hell _hoped_ there was a Motel 6 in Chicago that he didn’t know about. If there wasn’t, that meant he’d driven so far north that he’d gone into a neighboring city.  
            Feeling the paper balled up in his hand, he put two and two together to form an unsettling conclusion: it was a room number. But that only created more questions.  
            _Whose room? Who told me this number?_  
            He didn’t feel well. In fact, he felt like he was about to snap. It was a terrifying sensation: knowing that his sanity was dangling on a mere thread. Jesse had been right: he needed to talk to someone. If he dealt with whatever was going on here alone, he’d lose his mind for sure!  
            Un-balling his hand into a cup-shape, he again looked down at the number. Should he risk it? Whoever’s room it was, they were the only person he could turn to now. They could fill in the blanks for him.  
            _This is a terrible idea_ , he fretted. _But also a risk that I need to take right now._  
            Every step he took toward the street separating him from the motel made his head spin. He felt top-heavy and off-balance, like he might fall over at any moment. His head pounded and ached. But he didn’t stop, despite his body’s protest.  
            He managed to make it across the street without getting hit or losing his footing. As he stood in front of Motel 6, the overcast night sky lit up with a brief flash of lightning. Then, a few seconds later, a shuddering boom made him shiver. It wasn’t that he was afraid of thunderstorms; rather the contrary. But at that moment, the storm felt like a sign of impending doom.  
            Room 203 was, as expected, on the second floor. He reached the door after wobbling up the stairs as if he was heavily intoxicated.  
            _I may as well be. Feel about the same . . ._  
            There was a long moment where he stared at the number on the door, matching what he’d written, and didn’t do anything. He didn’t feel welcome. What if he was wrong about the number, and he was about to knock on the door to a stranger’s motel room? In truth, he wanted nothing more than to go home. But in his current state, he wondered if it would even be safe to drive.  
            _I should wait this out in the car . . . Drive home in the morning._  
            He was about to turn around and head back to the stairs when he heard the door unlock. When it swung open and he saw who was inside, he was simultaneously filled with both relief and horror.  
            Evangeline said nothing as she leaned in the doorway, holding shut the blue bathrobe she wore. Her hair was damp from a recent shower, and the look she gave him was one of loving pity. The moment she opened the door, an overwhelming perfume-y smell—the smell of pansies and scented candles—struck him.  
            All at once, any ideas that Adam had disappeared. His mind was blank as he stared down at the young girl in front of him. Though she’d showered, she’d already applied a fresh coat of makeup. As if . . .  
            _. . . She was expecting me._  
            Evangeline reached up and pushed her hair behind her ear. Then she took a step back. “Come in,” she beckoned in a gentle whisper.  
            For a beat, both of them stayed still, gazing at each other. It wasn’t until she moved to the other side of the door that Adam finally obeyed, and after he did, she closed and locked it.  
            “You’re drenched,” she observed. “Sorry. I didn’t think it would pour so hard.”  
            “You invited me here?” asked Adam, meek.  
            She reached up to his neck and he flinched, but if she noticed, she didn’t show it. Instead, she grabbed the collar of his jacket and started to pull it off. It made Adam feel strange, and part of him wanted to push her away. Humming an affirmative, Evangeline took Adam’s coat and hung it on a hook by the door.  
            “Why?”  
            “Why?” Evangeline repeated the question for confirmation. When he didn’t repeat it back, she approached the bed and patted the end of it, gesturing for him to have a seat. Then, she answered, “Well, because I was worried about you, I guess.”  
            Adam finally looked around the motel room. It had been decorated from top to bottom with pansies and honey flowers. He could almost describe it as _filled_ with the flowers. The smell of floral perfume was enough to suffocate, if the claustrophobic feeling they gave him wouldn’t do that on its own. The room was lit only with a wide array of large, scented candles, most cinnamon.  
            He had so many questions he wanted to ask, like where she’d found so many pansies, and why the room looked like the set up for a scene of seduction. But the only words that found their way from his throat were, “Worried about me?”  
            “Of course,” Evangeline affirmed as she paced around the room, dutifully adjusting plants and candles. “I mean, you confronted your wife a few hours ago, didn’t you? I wanted to make sure you were okay, and show my appreciation.”  
            “Appreciation . . . ?”  
            “Sit!” she cheerfully insisted.  
            Shuffling his feet across the carpeted floor, Adam made his way to the bed and sat down. For a few seconds he watched Evangeline hop from corner to corner, correcting things. Then he looked down at the floor. He was overwhelmed, and despite his desire to keep his masculinity intact he soon found himself on the verge of tears, head in his hands. It was a small hiccup—the stifled beginning of a sob—that made Evangeline stop in her tracks and look at him.  
            “Are you okay?” she asked, unable to mask the concern in her soft voice.  
            Without looking up, Adam shook his head. “I feel like I’m going crazy, Evangeline,” he puled.  
            The girl approached him, and then walked past him and sat down beside him. She didn’t say anything, didn’t try to pad the conversation like someone else would. Instead, she sat in silence, looked at him, and waited for him to continue on his own.  
            “I don’t know what to do . . . It’s like I’m losing control. Ever since I finished that damned video, I’ve been seeing pansies everywhere. A few days ago, I hallucinated an encounter with you and came to the next day in a restaurant!” He shook his head. “When I was talking to Larisa, I felt detached from reality. I couldn’t control what I said to her; it all just came out against my will. It’s like . . . like I became someone else. Someone took control of me and made me accuse my wife of cheating—someone who isn’t me! I’d be too scared of losing her to do that!  
            “Now I don’t know _what_ ’s going on. I still don’t feel quite like myself. I don’t remember you inviting me, or even driving tonight. I don’t know where I am, or why I’m here! There’s too many things that I don’t know right now—I don’t even know if _this_ is real. Maybe I’m hallucinating right now . . . Maybe I’ve already gone crazy!”  
            “Adam, listen to me.” Her voice firm all of a sudden, Evangeline grabbed Adam’s shoulders and made him face her. Petite face twisted with determination, she scowled at him and insisted, “You’re not crazy. Your wife’s crazy for cheating on you, but you? You’re _not_ crazy. Do you hear me?” She shook him, and in doing so, her robe slipped down somewhat, exposing one of her shoulders. There was a white bra strap there, and it was loose, nearly following the robe down.  
            For some reason, the strap caught Adam’s eye. The sight of the girl’s bare shoulder stunned him speechless. Also visible to him was her collarbone, and he took in the way it jutted, creating a small crevice at the bottom of her neck. When she noticed him staring at it, her shoulder lowered, straightening out her clavicle as she gazed toward it as well. Then she looked at him again, and him at her. He was sure that his face displayed alarm, but Evangeline looked . . . puzzled?  
            _Did I do something wrong?_  
            _Of course you did, dumbass. You’re staring at her shoulder like some sort of pervert!_  
            He averted his eyes from her and tried to turn away, but her small hands prevented him from doing so. So with nowhere else to turn, his eyes locked with hers again.  
            “We were meant to be together, Adam,” she insisted in a hushed voice. “Can’t you feel it? Fate and circumstance has lead us to be here right now, alone together in a place where no one can tear us apart.” One of her hands ran itself down the side of his head in a loving caress. “You’re _my_ one and only, not hers . . . Aren’t you?”  
            He stared into her eyes, now lavender once more, though maybe only because of all the purple pansies in the room. There was so much love in them, sincere and genuine, more than he’d even seen in Larisa’s. He couldn’t do this, but she had a point: they were alone, outside of Chicago, in a motel room. No one would ever know . . . But he couldn’t. Could he? His decision was made for him in the form of a subconscious mumble that managed to escape his lips.  
            “Eve . . .”  
            Evangeline beamed at him, eyes glistening in the candlelight. Then she moved her face closer to his and kissed him. To his own surprise his first impulse was to kiss her back rather than push her away. Only a few seconds later they were making out, exchanging deeper, hotter kisses, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. Her robe slipped on the other side of her body as well, and with it went that side’s bra strap. The instant her small, perky breast was exposed, she grabbed one of his hands and made him squeeze it.  
            Things were moving awfully fast, Adam realized. Not a minute ago, he’d been crying to Evangeline and considering leaving. Now he was being pulled further onto the bed, moving over the half-exposed young lady—his “forbidden fruit”, as Jesse had put it. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel guilty already, but he didn’t want to stop. He _couldn’t_ stop. As much as he wanted to deny it, he’d felt something for Evangeline the instant he saw her picture. And if it was the same for her . . . Who was he to argue against fate and circumstance?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on December 12th, 2017.

As Adam awoke, he felt a hand laid on his chest. His first thought in his grogginess was that it was Larisa. So, thankful that he was safe at home and in his own bed, he turned over without opening his eyes and moved closer to her. There was a sweet smell lingering in the air—some sort of perfume—but he was too comfortable to register what it was. For the first time in a while, he’d woken up in a good mood, and though he couldn’t remember _why_ , he wasn’t about to waste it. No, he was going to snuggle with his wife and sleep in for a few more minutes before she got up to get ready for work. But even despite his determination, something about the way Larisa smelled bothered him.  
            _Her hair smells sweet, like . . ._  
            _Like pansies._  
            His eyes shot open. Sure enough, the first thing he saw was the platinum blond mop of silky hair belonging to Evangeline. And though he wanted to throw her away—or himself, off of the bed— . . . he didn’t. Instead, he stared down at her face and thought,  
            _She’s even prettier when she’s asleep._  
            Piece by piece, memories of the prior night floated back into his mind. As they did, he realized that they’d never drift away from him again. He’d remember that night for the rest of his life. Those few hours with Evangeline were, to his inner dread, better than any of his moments with Larisa. Better than his wedding night, even, though for a moment he didn’t want to admit that to himself.  
            _Oh, who am I kidding? I’m probably in love with this girl, as crazy and stupid as that might be. Does it matter that I’ve only known her for a few weeks when I feel like I’ve known her my whole life? What’s the point in fighting her anymore if I’ve already given in to her once?_  
            The pain came for Adam in waves. At first, he was happy to accept his fate. But then thoughts of Larisa washed over him. What would she think? Hell, what would _Jesse_ think?  
            _God, I’m a terrible husband . . ._  
            Larisa wasn’t much better as a wife, but at least she hadn’t cheated on him for someone only just out of their teenage years . . . he hoped. He couldn’t help but feel like, out of the two of them, he’d made the worse offense. She’d even accused him of cheating, and what’d he do in response? Cheat! He wanted to believe that he’d done it out of spite, but he knew that he hadn’t. He’d done it because he wanted to.  
            Evangeline’s purple eyes drifted open, and when she saw Adam looking at her, she smiled.  
            “Good morning, Adam,” she crooned, happy as a clam. It wasn’t until he grimaced and sat up that she noticed his turmoil. Using the blanket to cover her naked body, she sat up with him and put a hand on his back. “What’s wrong?”  
            “Everything,” he grumbled under his breath. “ _Everything_ ’s wrong.” How had things worked out in Evangeline’s favor, even after how hard he struggled to resist her?  
            _Because she was there for me in a time of need . . . She knew I would be vulnerable, and she pounced on that opportunity._  
            The girl laid her head on his shoulder, a loving action that did little to comfort him.  
            “You’re wrong,” she insisted. “Everything’s perfect. You just can’t see it yet.”  
            Was everything perfect? Were he and Evangeline really meant for one another? If they were, he didn’t see why she had to be so much younger than him, or why they’d met so late in his life. If things were perfect as she said, they didn’t feel that way. They felt surreal, and not in a pleasant way. And though it felt like a stupid question, he found himself wondering, _is this real life anymore?_  
            Evangeline’s tiny arms wrapped around him as much as they could, and her hands laid themselves on his bare chest. As she moved in closer, he felt her breasts squash against his back. She snuggled her head into the crook of his shoulder.  
            “Evangeline, please.”  
            “I’m sorry.” She giggled. “I can’t get enough of your scent. Last night was wonderful. I don’t want to let you go.”  
            “I have to go before Larisa files a missing person report for me.”  
            “Oh, she can’t do that until tonight. 24 hour rule and all.”  
            “You don’t have to wait to report someone missing. Not in real life, anyway.”  
            Evangeline ignored him. “Stay a while longer. Please?”  
            “I can’t.” Adam did his best to pry the girl off of him, but she wouldn’t budge. So he moved her with him to reach down and grab his clothes from the pile beside the bed.  
            “What if I told you I know who your wife is cheating on you with?”  
            That question made Adam freeze mid-movement. Taking this as acceptance, Evangeline let go and sat back on the bed. He looked at her, bewildered, and she smirked.  
            “Who?” he asked.  
            “Stay with me a while longer,” she bribed, “and I’ll tell you.”  
            But as much as he wanted to use that as an excuse, he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he shook his head and reached down, picking up his briefs before standing to put them on. “I have to go.”  
            “Don’t you want to know?” asked the girl, worry in her voice.  
            Adam considered that as he pulled on his jeans. Buttoning them, he came to a conclusion, and said, “To be honest, no. I don’t think it matters who she’s cheating on me with.”  
            “I’d beg to differ,” she mumbled.  
            After tugging his t-shirt on over his head, Adam sat back down and started lacing his boots. Evangeline hugged him again, but he did his best not to react.  
            “Please don’t leave,” she pleaded. “Didn’t you enjoy last night?”  
            _Of course I did_ , he thought. But he bit his tongue, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing his feelings.  
            “You don’t have to go back to her. She doesn’t deserve you, Adam. She only wants you as a backup plan.”  
            “She’s my _wife_ ,” argued Adam. “It doesn’t matter what she sees me as, as long as I’m a husband to her.”  
            “Well, I hardly think a husband would be in love with another woman . . .”  
            “If you think insulting my integrity further will make me stay, you’re mistaken, Eve.” He caught himself a bit too late. “I mean, Evangeline.”  
            This got a chuckle out of the girl, and she put her hands on his beaded jawline to turn his head toward hers. “It probably shouldn’t,” she said, “but your refusal to admit your love for me only makes me want you more. I suppose you’re _my_ forbidden fruit more than I’m yours.”  
            They stared at each other for a moment, Adam scowling and Evangeline grinning. Then Adam gently removed Evangeline’s hands from his face and stood up, grabbing his coat off of the floor as he did. He stood up and started heading for the door, but stopped when Evangeline called out after him,  
            “Adam, if you leave, you’ll never see me again.”  
            There was a playfulness in her tone that made him think it was a ploy to make him stay. But at the same time, something in his gut told him she meant it. Did he want to go home and apologize to Larisa for last night? Yes, for sure. But did that mean he wanted to forsake Evangeline completely? Of course not. They could still be friends, albeit awkward ones, once she came to her senses and realized that he couldn’t be with her in the way she wanted.  
            He looked back at her and said, “I will, sooner or later. We shop at the same grocery store, after all.”  
            “If we do cross paths, I’ll ignore you.”  
            Something smug came to his mind, so he used it. “You couldn’t do that.”  
            “What makes you think that?”  
            “Because you love me too much.”  
            Evangeline lowered her eyes to the bed sheet, which she scrunched between her narrow fingers. “Never thought you’d admit it . . .” Then she looked back up at him with a determined look on her face. “But I will. I’ll ignore you _because_ I love you. Because if I didn’t, it’d drive me mad.”  
            “You’ll come around. Let’s just . . . pretend last night never happened.”  
            “I won’t.”  
            “I’m going, Evangeline.” He opened the door out of the motel room.  
            “So, what? That’s it, then? You’re leaving me, knowing that we’ll never talk again? After what we’ve shared?”  
            _I see. She’s baiting me, isn’t she? The more she makes these vague threats, the longer I stay._  
            “I’ll message you on Twitter.”  
            “I won’t be there to read it!”  
            “Goodbye, Evangeline.”  
            She didn’t argue any further, so Adam took the chance to leave, pulling the door shut behind him. Then he stood in front of it for a few beats, wondering if this was the right choice. He waited for her to rip the door open and stop him . . . but she didn’t. So, concerned and conflicted, he turned and went back into the motel room.  
            He was quick to regret that.  
            The first thing he noticed was that the pansies and candles were gone. No longer was there an overwhelming perfume scent. All he could smell was the musk of a well-used motel room. The bed was made, but the sheets were wrinkled as if someone had sat on his side of the bed recently. There was no sign of Evangeline.  
            Confused, he stepped further into the room.  
            “Evangeline?”  
            He checked the bathroom, the only place she could have gone. Nothing out of the ordinary in there. Then he whipped around, giving the motel room a frantic double take.  
            “ _Eve_?”  
            Somehow, she was gone. It was as if . . .  
            _. . . As if last night never happened._  
            The significance of his words and this unexpected outcome triggered a worrying thought: what if he’d imagined it? What if _he’d_ booked this motel room and slept here last night, alone?  
            _No. No, that’s . . . That’s impossible! She was just here, begging me to stay! How could she be gone?_  
            He put his hand on his head, trying to figure out some sort of solution. But nothing came to mind. It didn’t make sense. So he gave up.  
            _Whatever, I can worry about it later. Larisa’s bound to be losing her mind by now._  
            With reluctance, he left the motel room. He felt like he should’ve stayed . . . but how was he to know that Evangeline would vanish?

* * *

Because he had no real idea of where he was, it took Adam two hours to get back home. Pulling the car into his own driveway was the most relieving thing he’d done in a while. Never before had the phrase “home, sweet home” popped into his mind out of genuine relief.  
            For a long moment, he only sat in the car, lost in thought.  
            _What on earth happened back there?_ _Evangeline couldn’t have disappeared like that . . . I don’t get it._  
            He reached to his pocket for his cellphone, then remembered that he’d left it at home. If he wanted to send a message to Evangeline, he’d have to go inside and face Larisa first.  
            In reaching to that pocket, though, his hand grazed across his coat’s, and he felt something hard inside. Curiosity got the better of him, and he reached in. What he pulled out was a silver key with the number “317” engraved on its face. He narrowed his eyes at it in utmost confusion. First the sheet of paper with the motel room’s number, and now a mysterious key. There was no way of telling what it was for, but it looked like a house key. Or a room key, perhaps for an apartment?  
            _Does this belong to Evangeline? How did it wind up in my coat pocket? Just when I thought things couldn’t make any less sense . . ._

* * *

“Where in God’s name did you go?”  
            Adam had hardly stepped into the dining room before Larisa was shouting at him. He stopped in the doorway, alarmed but not too much, having expected this. Judging by her position in the room, she’d been pacing before he entered. If he knew her, it was safe to assume that she’d been doing so for at least a few hours.  
            “I was worried sick,” she griped.  
            “Sorry,” he mumbled as he approached the table and took a seat.  
            Larisa huffed and crossed her arms. “Are you okay?”  
            “Yeah. Yeah, I’m . . . fine.”  
            He watched his wife resume pacing. There were a few beats of silence, the only sound Larisa’s anxious footsteps. Then she said,  
            “I’m glad you’re home.”  
            “I am too,” murmured Adam. He clasped his hands on his lap. Desperate to speak before nerves got the better of him, he looked up and forced himself to say, “Larisa, I wanted to—”  
            “Yes?” she asked, cutting him off.  
            He took a breath. Before speaking again, he noticed that the bouquet from Evangeline was gone, replaced by the previous decorative plant. But he tried not to let the flowers’ disappearance distract him.  
            “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to scare or offend you or anything, I’ve just been . . . stressed out lately.”  
            “I’m not sure what you mean.” Larisa looked at him and finally took a seat. “Offend me?”  
            “The argument,” he reminded her.  
            “What argument?”  
            Adam glanced at Larisa. “The . . . The argument. You know. I accused you of, uh . . .”  
            His wife shook her head, seeming puzzled but also vaguely amused. “We didn’t argue last night. What are you talking about?”  
            Adam’s glance turned into a rigid stare. Her refusal to acknowledge the argument should’ve comforted him, but after the way Evangeline disappeared, it only made him more nervous.  
            “What . . . ?”  
            “You’ve been acting pretty strange these past few weeks, Adam. Most of the time you stay cooped up in your office. I was willing to look past it, since sometimes you become reclusive. But last night, at almost midnight, you left your office, and . . . well, walked out!” Larisa reached over and placed her hand on his arm.  
            “Honey, please,” she said. “Is something wrong? You’ve never been this out of it before. Where did you go all night?”  
            Panic seized Adam’s chest, and he pulled his arm away. He started shaking his head. “No, no, I . . . I remember it. We argued last night.”  
            “I didn’t see you at all yesterday. You were in your office all day until you got up and left.”  
            “Don’t do this to me right now, Larisa. I’m freaking out enough without you telling me that we didn’t argue.”  
            “Freaking out about what? What’s wrong?” Her concern was genuine.  
            _My God. She’s being honest, isn’t she? We really didn’t argue last night. But then why do I remember it so clearly?_  
            He stood up from his chair and backed toward the doorway, still shaking his head in protest. “I’m going upstairs,” he stammered. “I need to be alone.” _To wrap my head around whatever the hell is going on . . ._  
            “Adam, wait. Let’s talk, please. I can help you!”  
            He shook his head again and turned, hurrying upstairs as Larisa called after him. But she didn’t follow, that much he appreciated.  
            What else had he experienced that hadn’t happened? He could hope that her denial of the argument was her way of telling him that she forgave him. But if he found out he’d imagined one other thing that he had a vivid recollection of, he worried he might snap for real.  
            Once in his office, he went straight to Twitter on his computer. Going to his direct messages, he looked for Evangeline . . . but she wasn’t there.  
            “What?” he muttered to himself, anxiety level rising. He skimmed the list of contacts twice over but couldn’t find her. Recalling her Twitter handle, he tried to search it. She didn’t show up. So he went to his profile and changed the URL to Evangeline’s. It showed up as a part of his history, which comforted him somewhat. But then he tried to go to her page.  
            “Sorry,” the blue Twitter page read, “that page doesn’t exist!”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on December 19th, 2017.

He spent the rest of Monday fretting in his office. There was no proof beyond his browser history that Evangeline’s Twitter account had ever existed. The direct messages to and from her had all disappeared, on both his computer and his phone. No posts mentioned her handle. She had even disappeared from the other social media platforms, where she’d only followed him. There wasn’t even any trace of her bouquet in the house. As far as he could tell, she was gone.  
            He had to wonder if this was part of what she’d meant when she told him he’d never see her again. Was it really necessary to deactivate all her accounts?  
            _Then again, she did vanish into thin air back at the motel, so this is the_ least _she could do._  
            It turned out that Larisa was so worried for his mental wellbeing that she’d taken the week off. He would’ve been touched by the gesture if it didn’t mean that she would poke her head into his office once every hour or so to check on him. Sometimes she wouldn’t even talk while she did it; she’d poke her head in, stare at him for a beat, and then sigh and leave again. As much as he appreciated her concern, he had to admit that her persistent check-ins were bothersome at best.  
            That night, he wasn’t able to sleep. His mind wouldn’t stop running, anxious about what was going on. Was he losing his mind? He wanted to scold himself, tell himself that he was overreacting. But he knew what he’d seen, what he’d done. And yet none of it seemed to have happened.  
            In the morning, despite Larisa’s protest, he decided to go to work. She insisted on driving him there, but he counter-insisted that he wanted to walk alone. So she backed down, albeit with reluctance. Rather than change into his work shirt at the pawn shop, he decided to change into it before leaving. After grabbing his coat, mysterious key still in one of the pockets, he left and began his commute to Waller’s Pawn Shop.  
            He spent the walk thinking about what question he’d ask Jesse first. Would he ask about the bouquet? About Evangeline’s account? It didn’t help that on top of everything else, he felt scatterbrained. He had no way of telling what had happened and what hadn’t. Was _this_ real? Was any of this really happening to him, or was it all in his head? He held on to the hope that he wasn’t going mad, but his hold was slipping fast.  
            At the very least, Jesse didn’t look concerned upon seeing him enter the pawn shop. Instead, he beamed at him, as casual as ever.  
            “Hey, man!” he greeted. “What’s up?”  
            “Hey, Jess,” Adam replied in a weary voice, ignoring Jesse’s attempt to make small talk. He took a seat on his stool, beside Jesse, as usual. For a few seconds, he was able to pretend that everything was normal.  
            “Did you manage to find the woman who sold us that ring?” Jesse asked as he typed away, writing a nonsensical Facebook post.  
            If he was being honest, he’d have to admit that he’d forgotten all about Dana Frost and her ring. It was a relief to discover that at least _that_ had happened.  
            “No,” he admitted. “I don’t know if I’d be able to, anyway.”  
            “That’s a shame. I was kind of curious to see how that would’ve turned out. Do you know her name?”  
            “Dana Frost.”  
            Jesse opened a new tab on his browser and typed something. Adam didn’t pay attention until he asked, “Dana Frost, secretary and wife of some Dr. Terry Frost?”  
            He looked at his friend, then at the computer screen; Jesse had done a Google search on Dana, and the first result was a review of Dr. Frost.  
            “I didn’t tell you to Google her,” complained Adam. “Close that shit.”  
            “Says here that he’s a psychologist,” Jesse observed. “So you _did_ see a psych guy?”  
            “Close it. Forget about the whole thing.”  
            “All right, all right.” Jesse closed the tab, then looked at Adam. “Wouldn’t want to upset the birthday boy on his special day,” he said with a wink.  
            For a few beats, Adam only stared at Jesse, processing that remark. The taller man patted his shoulder and grinned at him.  
            “Did you forget? Happy Birthday, Mr. Halloween-baby!”  
            Adam glanced at the bottom right corner of the computer screen, at the current date; it was indeed October 31 st, both Halloween and his birthday. The realization brought first to his mind the memory of a scene he’d hallucinated a few days prior: Evangeline holding him as he wore Madness’ suit, whispering in his ear that it was his birthday. It was a crazy thought: that it could mean that something was going to happen today.  
            _That I might lose my mind today._  
            But he accepted the idea, despite the fear it caused him.  
            Jesse pulled away and turned back to the computer. “We should get dinner tonight. Let’s bring Larisa along. How about it?”  
            “Thanks, but you know I don’t celebrate birthdays . . .”  
            “You don’t celebrate _anything_ , you old fogey. Let’s change it up!”  
            “I don’t know, Jess . . .”  
            “Ah, you’ll come around before noon,” remarked Jesse, in a good-natured taunt.  
            Adam didn’t reply right away. Instead, he thought about what he wanted to ask Jesse. “Uh, Jesse?”  
            “Yeah?”  
            “I need to ask you something.”  
            “Shoot.”  
            He wrung his hands on the counter. “Back at O’Rourke’s office, you told me that Evangeline had contacted you at some point. Evangeline Thompson, the one who changed her name to ‘Eve’ to match mine. Anyway, her account just . . . disappeared yesterday. Not only on Twitter, but everywhere.” He looked at Jesse. “You wouldn’t happen to know what happened . . .” But he trailed off when he noticed his friend’s facial expression.  
            Jesse’s eyebrows were arched, one raised in confusion. He was staring at Adam as if he was speaking nonsense. “Adam,” he said, “what are you talking about? ‘Back at O’Rourke’s office’? When?”  
            Adam tried to remain composed, hoping that Jesse’s flippant nature meant that he’d only forgotten the encounter. “I don’t remember exactly. A few days ago. A week, maybe?”  
            It seemed like Jesse was trying to laugh this off too, but still his confused expression remained. “We didn’t _go_ to O’Rourke’s office last week,” he declared. “I went alone. When I asked if you wanted to come with me, you turned me down. And what’s this about ‘Evangeline’? She some hot fling you met, Romeo?” He ended this teasing remark with a few amused grunts and some elbow jabs.  
            But Adam didn’t laugh. He didn’t react at all, physically. On the inside, though, he was in full panic.  
            _No. No, no, no, that’s not possible! I remember that so clearly. It_ must _have happened!_  
            His imagination had always been vivid, but never _that_ vivid. There was no way he could’ve imagined the conversation at the bar. Which led him back full circle to a certain troubling thought.  
            What if _this_ wasn’t real?  
            _It’s the only explanation. I got into a car crash or something on my way to or from the motel, and now I’m in limbo. None of this is real. I’m not in the real world anymore. Now I’m in a world without Evangeline, where I can’t apologize to Larisa for the things that I said to her . . ._  
            The idea overtook him in seconds, and he felt detached from the world around him in the same amount of time. He turned his head away from Jesse, staring down at the counter instead. If this was in his head, he could only wonder where he was in reality. Was he even alive anymore, or was this purgatory?  
            _The weight that lifted off of my chest when I remembered this idea only proves that it must be true. My subconscious was anxious because there was something I couldn’t understand. But now I understand, and I feel nothing anymore. This isn’t real. I’ve figured it out. Evangeline disappearing from the motel room was the first sign that I’d left reality._  
            _But where am I now? Lost in my own imagination? I must be._  
            Under normal circumstances, he would never have been so quick to believe such a crazy concept. But now it filled in the blanks for him, and gave his mind a clarity that he hadn’t felt in weeks. Somehow it clicked, and there would be no shaking it away.  
            _How do I get out of here?_ Then, he wondered, _do I_ want _to get out?_  
            “Adam?” asked Jesse, sounding perplexed and concerned. The fact that his response wasn’t more flippant, like “I was just teasing” or something along those lines, only further cemented Adam’s suspicion.  
            _Phone_ , he thought. _This will prove it once and for all. I want the phone to ring now, and distract him._  
            For a few beats, nothing happened. Yet, right when Adam was about to reconsider, it happened: the phone rang. Jesse hesitated briefly before answering it.  
            “Hello, Waller’s Pawn Shop . . . Yes. Um, let me check.” Jesse stood up, but then stared down at Adam. He didn’t walk off until Adam gave him a sidelong glance, after which he finally headed deeper into the shop to examine one of their display cases. “Sorry. What kind of watch?”  
            Adam tuned Jesse out and gazed off into space. It could’ve been a coincidence that the phone rang, but it didn’t feel like it. The clearer it became that this could be nothing but a vivid hallucination, the more uneasy he felt.  
            _I want to go back to reality._  
            There had to be a way out. He didn’t know how he got lost in here to begin with, though. So how could he get out?  
            _Maybe this is like a dream. What would wake me up from a dream?_  
            Only one idea came into his mind, an idea that terrified him but could be his only chance. It would either free him from his imagination or prove to him that he never left reality. And he knew the way he wanted to execute the idea. He’d known for weeks.  
            After glancing at Jesse, making sure that he was engrossed in the watch display, Adam stood up and made his way to the door. Sure enough, Jesse noticed and turned to look at him as he opened it.  
            “Adam,” he hissed, “where are you going?”  
            Adam hesitated.  
            _Part of me wants to say something dramatic_ , he realized. _But I’ve never been witty enough to think something like that up on the spot._  
            So, instead, he walked out without a word.  
            “Adam?” Jesse called his name, but was cut off by the door drifting shut.  
            Undeterred, Adam started walking. He didn’t pay much attention; rather, he let his legs guide him to his destination on their own. The journey ended in front of a familiar scene: the train tracks. When he looked down, he discovered that of all the things that had never happened, one thing was still as he recalled it. The pansy that had grown out of the ballast before his very eyes was still there, though it was now dead. He took its presence as a sign that he was making the right decision by doing this.  
            He stepped onto the tracks and turned himself to the west, where there was more sky to see. In the distance, he could see the train approaching.  
            _What convenient timing. It can’t be a coincidence._  
            The closer the train got, the more he had to admit to himself that he was afraid. Afraid that he was wrong. After all, he’d heard that if you died in a dream, you’d die in real life as well. What if he didn’t wake up before the train hit him?  
            He turned his head up to the sky and took a deep breath. It wasn’t until he felt cold droplets of water splashing onto his face that he realized it was pouring rain. His hands went up to his face, and he ran them down it, smearing the rainwater across his skin and beard.  
            _I won’t feel any pain, either way. This isn’t real._  
            The train grew closer, and as it did he heard its horn rip through the air, trying to make him move. But he stood his ground, blind to danger, determined only to free himself of this illusion. He extended his arms out at his sides, beckoning the train to take him away.  
            “Adam!” A voice to his left called out his name. A voice that he recognized. After a car door slammed, he heard her footsteps running toward him, and he turned his head. Larisa was there, sprinting to reach him in time. But the train was faster than her—it would reach him first.  
            “ _Adam_!”  
            Staring at his wife, he decided not to look at the train again. Could he have been happy with her here? Maybe she wasn’t cheating on him in this world. But he didn’t care about that risk. All he could think was that in this world, Evangeline didn’t exist, and he couldn’t live with that. He needed to see her again. So as he heard the train growing ever closer, watching Larisa’s growing fright, he closed his eyes.  
            She would be the last thing that he saw as he let her go. It was only fitting that way.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on December 26th, 2017.

“How are you feeling?”  
            The patient didn’t answer, but this wasn’t surprising to Dr. Frost. He looked down at the notebook in his hands and raised his pen to make a note, but realized that there wasn’t anything to make note of. The patient had hardly said a word during the near-15 minutes that he’d been sitting in front of him.  
            Discouraged but not defeated, Dr. Frost sighed and stood up. He began to pace behind his own chair. There had to be something to break the patient’s silence, something that would force a reply.  
            “Would you like to talk about what happened?”  
            Again, no response.  
            “It’s all right if you don’t want to yet. Baby steps are best.” Dr. Frost rubbed his hands together; it was chilly in his office. Snow had fallen that morning, surprising a lot of people. Due to the deluge of rain the day before, the roads were slippery. Frost could only hope his patient had switched to winter tires early. This gave him an idea: to use small talk.  
            “Cold, isn’t it? It shouldn’t have snowed until later this month.” But of course, this garnered no response either. Mimicking the silence, Dr. Frost stepped over to the window behind his desk. Frost had begun to form on it corners. Outside was a winter wonderland so white that it was almost blinding. All of a sudden, he wished he’d taken Dana’s old advice of getting blinds made for the window. Knowing that he was near-silhouetted by the light outside, he turned and faced his patient.  
            “I do hope you realize now that I’m trying to help you, Adam. You always seemed to think that I had no interest in doing that.”  
            Sitting on the chaise longue, feet planted firm against the floor, Adam Keir shot Dr. Frost a sidelong glare. Then he resumed staring off into space.  
            “To be honest, you were my most interesting patient. You were the one that I worried about most of all.” Dr. Frost paced back to his chair and stood behind it with his arms crossed. “It surprised me when I heard that you’d married and were leading a normal life. I almost thought you’d recovered from your trauma.”  
            “Don’t say that,” Adam grumbled.  
            His main priority to keep Adam talking, Frost asked, “Don’t say what?”  
            “ _That_.”  
            “And what about what I said bothered you, Adam?”  
            There was again no answer. Adam had always been reluctant to answer questions, but how to make him speak without further upsetting him was Dr. Frost’s dilemma. It was a good thing, then, that he enjoyed problem-solving.  
            “Do you remember much of our previous interactions?” he asked his patient. “How many years ago were they?” He paused, waiting for Adam to answer, but gave up after half a minute. “Let’s see, I was . . . I must’ve been about 24. So it’s been 23 years.” Realizing the date, he added, “And it’s the anniversary of the first time we met, isn’t it?”  
            Adam, as expected, kept silent. Dr. Frost picked up his notepad off of the arm of the chair and changed the subject.  
            “Do you know why you’re here, Adam?” As he asked the question, he eyed Adam carefully. Sure enough, his answer came in the form of the man discreetly looking off to the side. “You’re here because you left your place of work. Where do you work?”  
            “A pawn shop,” Adam murmured.  
            “Which one?”  
            “Waller’s . . . Waller’s Pawn Shop.”  
            “Who do you work with?”  
            “Jesse.”  
            Dr. Frost examined the information that Adam’s wife had given him. It all checked out, so he nodded to himself before turning his eyes back up to his patient. “When you walked out, Jesse called your wife. What’s her name, Adam?”  
            “Larisa,” he hissed, sounding more hostile. He glared up at the psychologist and said, “I don’t have memory problems, Dr. Frost. I remember where I work, who my wife is, where I live, and all that. Stop asking.”  
            “Then do you remember Larisa finding you lying down on the train tracks?”  
            “I wasn’t lying down.”  
            “Your wife said you were. And that you didn’t say anything to her for the rest of the night.”  
            Adam brought a leg up, foot on the couch cushion, and hugged it. “I didn’t wake up,” he mumbled.  
            Dr. Frost paused for a beat and wrote that down before asking, “What do you mean?”  
            “The train hit me. It was supposed to wake me up, or at least kill me. But now I’m here . . .”  
            “There was no train.”  
            Adam finally looked Dr. Frost in the eyes. “What?”  
            “Your wife didn’t mention a train. She found you unharmed, but lying down. There wasn’t an immediate threat, as the train was miles off.”  
            “But . . . I saw it. I . . .”  
            “Yes?”  
            Adam lowered his head. “I see. That wasn’t real, either.”  
            Dr. Frost gazed at Adam for a long moment, perplexed. He’d seen the man in bad shape 23 years prior, but now he felt genuine concern for him. Something had seriously warped his sense of reality.  
            “So when you went to the train tracks, you did so with intent to take your own life.” Dr. Frost examined Adam’s wording. “But you say that the train was supposed to ‘wake you up’ rather than kill you. What does that mean, Adam? Do you believe you’re trapped within a dream right now?”  
            “Whatever it is,” said Adam, “it isn’t reality.”  
            “What makes you think that?”  
            For a few beats, Adam didn’t say anything. But right as Dr. Frost was about to move on, he confessed, “Things that I have a vivid recollection of . . . Well, a lot of them never happened. But I remember them happening. There’s even a person who . . . doesn’t seem to exist anymore.”  
            Dr. Frost jotted that down. “Who is that?”  
            Another pause, but Adam did answer after it. “A girl I met last month. Her name was Evangeline, Evangeline Thompson.”  
            “And where did you meet Evangeline, Adam?”  
            “Online. She followed me on Twitter and every other social media platform that I’m on.” Dr. Frost was about to assume that Adam had been catfished, but then he added, “I met her for coffee at a café, though, so I know she’s real. But then I met her at a motel a few days ago . . .”  
            “Which motel?”  
            “Motel 6. In, uh . . . Villa Park, I think.”  
            “And what happened there?”  
            “I spent a few hours with her . . .”  
            Dr. Frost raised a brow. Larisa had mentioned that Adam disappeared for an entire night. “A few hours?” he questioned.  
            Adam frowned. “Okay, maybe ‘a few hours’ was a lie . . .”  
            “You spent the night.”  
            “Yeah.” He fell silent again, a guilty look on his face as he bobbed his other leg.  
            “I won’t judge you. That’s not why I’m listening. Go on.”  
            “Well, I stepped out in the morning, but then I went back inside because I . . . uh, forgot something. And she was gone. None of her things were there. It was like . . .” He shook his head. “Like she was never there. But she was. I’d talked to her less than thirty seconds before.”  
            “Who made the reservations?”  
            “She did.”  
            “Are you sure?”  
            “I mean . . . She told me she invited me. I would’ve picked a closer motel.”  
            Dr. Frost put his notebook down again. “I don’t think so,” he admitted.  
            “Why not?”  
            The psychologist looked Adam in the eyes. “Because you were staying at the Motel 6 in Villa Park with your mother when you and I first met.”  
            Adam stared at him, eyes wide with surprise.  
            “Do you remember that, Adam?”  
            “Y— . . . Yeah . . .”  
            “And do you remember why?”  
            Adam slouched forward, allowing his raised leg to slide back down. “Um, yeah. Something about a fire.”  
            “Where?”  
            “My house, I suppose.”  
            “What do you remember about the fire, Adam?”  
            The man lowered his head. A small smile spread across his face, but his eyes seemed sad. “Well, I remember that it was terrifying. The heat was overwhelming. It was hard to breathe because of the smoke.”  
            “And yet you remained inside, didn’t you?”  
            “I don’t remember leaving, not until my mother dragged me out.”  
            “Why?”  
            “Something . . . Some _one_ was still in there. I didn’t want to leave her behind, but she was trapped . . .”  
            Now they were getting somewhere, somewhere that they hadn’t been able to get to 23 years ago. Dr. Frost leaned forward as well, mimicking Adam’s slouch. “Who was she, Adam?”  
            “I don’t remember. But Evangeline . . . She looked just like her.”  
            Dr. Frost leaned back again. He placed his hands together, fingertips touching. “Adam, I have an opinion.”  
            “Don’t say it. I don’t care about your opinion, Dr. Frost.”  
            But he said it anyway. “I don’t think that Evangeline ever existed.”  
            “She did.” Adam glared at him. “In reality, she exists. Not here, though.”  
            “Adam, _this_ is reality. Evangeline never existed. The world where she did was the dream world.”  
            “And what makes you think that?” he growled.  
            “She exists as a means of overcoming your guilt. You feel responsible for the death of that girl, so you created an older version of her—someone who looks like her but isn’t—so that you can cope and find a way to make it up to her.”  
            “If I felt that bad about the girl, you’d think I’d remember who she is.”  
            “Not at all. You repressed your memories of her existence to protect yourself. It was your subconscious that created Evangeline in her image.”  
            “Who is she?”  
            Dr. Frost crossed one leg over the other. “You repressed her for a reason, Adam. While you have to remember her to move on, telling you outright would do more harm than good. You have to let yourself remember on your own, at your own pace.”  
            “I’m ready to know now.”  
            “You’re not ready until you remember her without my intervention.”  
            Adam lowered his head and grabbed tufts of his quiff-like bangs in his hands. “Who was she . . . ? Dammit, who _was_ she?”  
            “Don’t force it, Adam. That’ll only push the memories further away.”  
            Adam sighed and let his hands drop.  
            “Do you know if this is the real world now?”  
            “What happened to you and Dana?”  
            This question took Dr. Frost by surprise. “We’re here to talk about you right now, Adam, not me.”  
            “She pawned the ring you gave her to Jesse and me.”  
            Dr. Frost put his leg down and sighed as well. “Figured as much. Convenient that she’d pawn it to you, though. Will it make you feel better if I tell you why she did?”  
            “I don’t know.”  
            “We separated three months ago.”  
            Adam seemed sympathetic, or at least _em_ pathetic, with his brows furrowed somewhat. “Why?”  
            Dr. Frost shrugged. “Somewhere along the road, our feelings for one another changed. We figured it was for the best that we move on. Spend a few years away from each other, and if our feelings change, we can consider coming back to our marriage. Hence why we didn’t divorce outright. We’ll do that if one of us meets someone else.”  
            “But her wedding ring . . .”  
            “We’d renew our vows with new rings if we returned to one another. I figure she sold the ring because it made her feel like I was still with her.”  
            Adam paused, then said, “I still have it, if you want it.”  
            The offer also came as a surprise. His expectation would’ve been that Adam would want the ring sold away as soon as possible, but he’d kept it instead. But then again, he supposed it was more because of a concern for Dana than for him; he’d always liked her more.  
            “That’s thoughtful of you. But no thank you. It’s for the best that she sold it.”  
            The man gave a small nod in response. “Well, if you ever change your mind . . .”  
            “Thank you.” Dr. Frost picked his notebook back up. “Speaking of, how is your relationship with Larisa, if you don’t mind me asking?”  
            Judging by the way Adam looked away, the question seemed to trouble him. “I’m not sure,” was his answer.  
            “Not sure?” repeated the psychologist.  
            “As I said, a lot of the things that I remember never happened here. So I don’t know.”  
            This answer was followed by the beeping of Dr. Frost’s wristwatch, indicating that their hour was up. It hadn’t felt like an hour, and he was considering asking Adam to stay a while longer, but before he could, the man stood up.  
            “Adam?”  
            “Time’s up, doctor. I’m leaving now.”  
            “Well . . . Wait a moment. I’ve got some time before my next client arrives.”  
            “I’m not going to say anything more to you, Dr. Frost.” Adam seemed dead-set on leaving, what with his stern tone and glare. So Dr. Frost reclined in his chair again.  
            “If you insist . . .”  
            Less than a minute later, Adam was out the door, leaving the psychologist alone to ponder their brief discussion. Though the man had been silent for most of their hour, he’d at least been able to make _some_ progress. His only concern was Adam’s obvious disconnect from reality. While he didn’t want to worry Larisa Keir by telling her to put her husband on some sort of suicide watch, he could only hope that Adam was at least on the fence now about whether this was the real world.  
            He opened his notebook and looked at his notes on the case. Out of everything he’d heard, it was the concept of Evangeline Thompson that troubled him most. Adam had to be made aware that she was no more than a figment of his troubled imagination, but he couldn’t be sure that he’d done a good job of convincing him. For what felt like the first time in his career, worry led him to not want to wait a week to see how this story progressed. But unfortunately, beyond their designated hours together, the life of Adam Keir was none of his business.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on January 2nd, 2018.

Larisa found the tiny coffee shop nearby to be quaint and homey. She enjoyed the atmosphere it gave off, not to mention the smell of coffee and cappuccinos. On the table in front of her was one of the latter, with cinnamon sprinkled on top of the milk foam. As she sat in wait for her date, sipping her drink, she gazed at the pansy sitting in a glass vase on the center of her table. She was sitting right beside a large window. It gave her a nice view of the street outside, separating her from the brisk winter air with only a pane of glass. Because of the cold it gave off, she’d kept her coat on after sitting down.  
            She’d only be there for a few minutes when, looking left and right, her date entered the shop. Then he made a bee-line for her table and sat down across from her.  
            “Jesse,” she said his name with a loving warmth. Noticing the way he rubbed his upper arms, she then added, “Cold outside, huh?”  
            “I’ll say,” replied her husband’s best friend, and also the other half of her guilty affair. She’d always found Jesse Waller handsome. Not attractive (nor serious) enough to marry, not by a long shot. But handsome nonetheless.  
            When she married Adam Keir, she thought that she was making the better decision. And perhaps she had; Adam wasn’t as reckless as Jesse, and though he was a timid lover, at least the love he gave felt. But at some point, she grew bored of his shy nature. She wanted someone exciting, someone who would fulfill all of her sexual needs and fantasies without a second thought. When she thought of someone like that, the first man that came to mind was none other than Jesse Waller.  
            For a while, her affair with Jesse had been fun, and guilt was non-existent. What Adam didn’t know wouldn’t kill him, and she thought it made them all happy. Her desires were being fulfilled, Jesse could pretend he had a girlfriend, and Adam could work away the days the way he wanted to: without her pestering him for sex every other night. And then Adam’s art block began . . .  
            It hadn’t bothered her at first. Adam usually had a month or two where his creativity ran dry. But somehow, perhaps due to intuition, when October began she knew this was different. If only she’d known that it would lead to Adam’s mental unwinding and growing reclusiveness, culminating in him lying on the train tracks waiting for mobile death to sweep him away. Would that knowledge have changed anything, though? She doubted it.  
            “How is he?” The question ejected itself from Jesse’s mouth all of a sudden, with a concerned tone that didn’t suit him.  
            “He’s seeing a psychologist right now,” she answered, crossing her arms over her chest. “Someone he’s seen before, I think.”  
            Jesse cocked his head to the side. “You managed to talk him into that? Last I heard, he hated those kooks with a passion.”  
            “What else was I supposed to do? He’s my husband, and he tried to kill himself yesterday.”  
            “I’m not saying it was a bad choice. I’m just surprised that he actually gave in to the idea.” Jesse put his hands up onto the table, wringing them and knocking his thumbs together. “It’s not like I’m not worried about him too, you know? He’s still my best friend.”  
            The woman sighed and picked up her mug. Before taking another small sip, she said, “I know.”  
            “I just feel . . .” Jesse let out an uneasy huff before starting his statement over again. “I feel like I’m to blame for all this.”  
            There was a long beat of silence. If Jesse had planned to explain why he felt the way he did, then something stopped him, for he didn’t say anything more. The way he wrung his slender hands made it clear to Larisa that he was anxious, but perhaps he was right to be. After all, she hadn’t called him to the coffee shop for a good reason. Once she swallowed a gulp of cappuccino, she put her mug back down and cleared her throat.  
            “Listen, Jesse,” she began in a gentle murmur. “It’s been fun, uh, getting to know you better. I won’t lie and say I haven’t enjoyed our hook-ups. But I’m worried about Adam, and that he might start digging a little deeper and . . .”  
            “You think he’ll find out, right?” Jesse said as she trailed off. “I know. I’m worried about that, too.”  
            So Larisa sighed and got straight to the point. “I think we should call this whole thing off. We shouldn’t see each other this way anymore.” She expected Jesse to argue, but instead, he nodded. With a wistful expression, he admitted,  
            “It’s funny: I was trying to think of how to say that to you the whole way here.”  
            “You’re not upset?”  
            The man shook his head. “I hope you won’t be mad if I say that I’ve had second thoughts about this since day one.”  
            “Because he’s your best friend?”  
            “Yeah. I mean, I did it anyway, I guess because I thought you’d be upset if I didn’t.” It was Jesse’s turn to sigh. “I’m a pretty terrible best friend. But I don’t want to lose him, you know? I want to make it up to him somehow.”  
            Larisa nodded, the feeling being mutual. “I’m glad that we’re on the same page. We had a good run.”  
            “Forbidden love’s always the most exciting, isn’t it?” Jesse asked with a bittersweet smile. “You know you shouldn’t do it, but you do it anyway, and it becomes addictive. It stops mattering, whether someone you care about gets hurt because of it . . .”  
            “That’s uncharacteristically deep of you,” Larisa teased. “But I agree. It’s a dangerous thing. We should get out while we can.”  
            “Let’s pretend it never happened.” Jesse held out his hand for a shake, but Larisa took one look at it before shaking her head.  
            “No. It did happen. What we need to do is accept that fact and move past it.”  
            “Heh, it’s no wonder Adam married you. You’re both so damn mature.”  
            The two of them shared a laugh, and Larisa shook Jesse’s hand. There was still a spark when they touched, but she did her best to ignore it.  
            If she was given the chance to go back in time, she knew she’d still marry Adam. There wasn’t a single doubt about that in her mind. She’d admit that she had and always would feel lust for Jesse, but the only man she truly loved was Adam Keir, through and through.

* * *

When she arrived at Dr. Frost’s office, Adam was sitting on the front step waiting for her. The amount of snow in his messy brown hair suggested that he’d been sitting there for a while, but one thing he hadn’t lost was his patience. Either that or he’d zoned out, which was implied to her by the way he didn’t even look up as the car pulled up in front of him. She pushed the button to lower the window and for a moment only gazed at him, waiting for him to look at something, anything. But he remained still.  
            “Adam,” she finally said. After a moment, he raised his head. Then he stood up and approached the car. He got into the passenger seat without a word, and didn’t buckle his seatbelt until he noticed Larisa’s unwavering stare out of the corner of his eye. Recalling Jesse’s suggestion that Adam didn’t like psychologists, she decided to approach the subject of Dr. Frost first.  
            “How did it go?” was all she could think to ask.  
            “Well, he wasn’t staring at the clock the whole time, so I suppose that was an improvement,” was Adam’s curt response.  
            Though she opened her mouth to ask something else, she realized that she had nothing else to ask. So, instead, she closed her mouth and started driving quietly toward home. They said nothing throughout the duration of the drive, and Larisa suddenly longed to hear her husband laugh, but didn’t know how to make that happen. She felt like it would be a long time before he’d ever laugh again. It had been a rare occurrence even before this, but one that she’d always enjoyed.  
            Now, Adam sat still in the passenger seat, staring through the windshield at nothing. If he hadn’t replied to her question, she might’ve thought he wasn’t aware of her presence at all. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about that had him so entranced. Was it something Dr. Frost had said to him, or was it something else? Or was he not thinking of anything at all, and merely lost in his own head? As his wife, she scolded herself for not knowing him better. She felt she should know exactly what was bothering him, but instead, he was an enigma to her. Maybe, she thought, he was only waiting for her to speak first. But what was there to say?  
            Thus the drive continued in torturous wordlessness, all the way home. She didn’t look at him until she pulled up in their driveway, and when she did, she hesitated. With his head tilted down onto his right shoulder, Adam appeared to have dozed off at some point. After turning off the car’s engine she was able to hear his soft yet deep, rhythmic breathing. Yes, definitely asleep.  
            _That’s right . . . He didn’t sleep last night, did he?_  
            She recalled waking up a few times in the night, not being able to sleep well out of concern for him. Each time, she’d found him the same way: wide awake, lying on his back beside her and staring up at the ceiling. She’d been too afraid to sleep soundly—afraid that he’d attempt to leave her in the night again, that he’d return to the train tracks.  
            As much as she wanted to let him sleep now, she knew that she couldn’t leave him in the car. So she reached over and placed her hand on his shoulder, using it to gently wake him up.  
            “Adam? Adam, we’re home.”

* * *

The first thing he did upon getting inside was head up to his office. He hadn’t been in there since Monday, because he was afraid of the reality that could await him. The longer he spent in there, he felt, the more he may discover about whether Evangeline was real or a mere figment of his imagination. Though he should’ve wanted confirmation of which was the case, he found himself terrified. The idea of Evangeline was becoming more and more like a Schrödinger’s cat scenario: as long as he wasn’t certain of her non-existence, he could be partially certain that she _did_ exist.  
            So when he arrived at the top of the staircase and approached the door, he hesitated before opening it. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do—how he might react if Evangeline’s drawings were no longer on the wall. He’d done his best not to look at where they’d been when he was in there on Monday; all of his focus then had gone into seeing if she still existed online. The answer to that had been a blatant and unwavering “no”.  
            _But I can’t go on like this. I can’t live with this uncertainty._  
            With a shaky hand, he gripped the doorknob and twisted it. He took a deep breath. Then he pushed the door open. As he stepped into his office, he kept his head turned to the hardwood floor. Part of him screamed not to look up, and instead to slink backwards out of the room, but he did his best to ignore it. Soon, he’d managed to silence it.  
            _The drawing won’t be there_ , he thought. _It won’t be there, because Dr. Frost is right. This is reality. Evangeline never existed. It was all in my head._  
            He drilled this into his head, making damn sure he was certain of it so that there would be no crushing disappointment upon the inevitable reveal of the artwork’s disappearance. But when he looked up, he felt his heart skip a beat. When it resumed its normal rhythm, it felt as though his blood was ice cold.  
            Evangeline’s drawing was still there, right where he’d left it.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on January 9th, 2018.

After waking up around five in the morning, Adam decided to spend a few hours lying in bed to gaze at his sleeping wife. He hoped this would help him fall back to sleep himself, but instead he stayed this way for two hours. At 7:01 sharp, he turned over and got out of bed. If he couldn’t sleep, he reasoned, he may as well do something productive.  
            The goal was to get back to his normal routine, if only to appease Larisa so she wouldn’t send him to see Dr. Frost again. While he still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t in some sort of illusion, his best option was to play along. So even though he knew Larisa would protest were she awake, he got up and dressed in silence. As he left the bedroom, he closed the door behind himself, being both careful and quiet. Then he pulled out his phone.  
            “I’m coming in today,” he wrote to Jesse, not including a signature for a reason he couldn’t explain. There was a pause before his friend answered, during which he headed downstairs. He didn’t check his phone again until he’d put his coat on and pulled on his boots.  
            “You sure?” Jesse had asked.  
            “Yes.” Then, after a beat, “Are you there now?”  
            “Yeah, but you don’t have to come in today if you don’t feel up to it, y’know?”  
            “I feel fine. I’m leaving now. Be there soon.” He debated the way he ended the text before sending it, deciding that he didn’t care.  
            _Why should it matter how I word texts here? No one’s actually reading them. This is just an elaborate delusion._ His eyes hovered over three of the words he’d written: “I’m leaving now.” _If only I could say the same about my imagination . . ._  
            Adam slipped his phone into his front right pocket, then left the house. It was snowing again, though less so.  
            He couldn’t tell if it was his eyesight deteriorating or his general lack of focus, but the world around him seemed blurry. When he reached out his hand to catch some of the drifting snowflakes, he felt nothing as they melted on his warm palm. No pricks of cold, not even the wetness of the tiny puddles they formed. This lack of sensation filled him with sudden emotion.  
            _I want to see real snow . . . I used to hate winter, but now I realize that it’s always been my favorite season. All because I love it when it snows . . ._  
            But now that was gone. His beloved snowfalls were now only in his head, and that made him mournful more than anything else. How would he live without it?  
            _The same way I always have._  
            He’d grown used to losing things. First his father, then the mystery girl, then his mother, then Evangeline, reality, and now the snow. After Evangeline, he could lose anything. After reality, he had nothing else to lose. Lamenting over fake weather wouldn’t change anything. To carry on here wasn’t living, but it was curiosity more than anything that made him try.  
            _Jesse would never be at the pawn shop this early. Sure, he gets there sooner than I do, but he’d never be there at seven. He’s only there because it benefits me that he be there now, so that I can leave before Larisa wakes up. But Larisa should’ve woken up at six._  
            The realization of Jesse not being real was gradual. Once it clicked, Adam felt his neutral expression finally give way into desolation. Losing Larisa should’ve been the worst, but he’d known Jesse longer; he trusted him more, as much as he tried to deny it. In the real world, Jesse had been the first person he turned to for support. He was his best friend. And now he was no more than a figment of his imagination, like everything else.  
            _I wonder if I know Jesse well enough for him to stay in character here. How long before I forget who he is and replace him with my_ idea _of him? Before I forget his face and voice, both blending away into some cheap imitation as my brain desperately tries to fill in the gaps?_  
            He wished the train _had_ killed him. But there were no threats here; his brain wouldn’t allow him to die. Any suicide attempts he made would only be excused like the train: there was no real harm, because it was only a hallucination.  
            _Joke’s on everyone, though:_ everything’s _a hallucination._  
            Despite his conclusion of virtual immortality, Adam didn’t feel like putting it to the test, at least not yet. So he straightened himself out and made his way to Waller’s Pawn Shop as if nothing was different. As if he was still Adam Keir, normal Chicagoan, making his normal commute to his normal job. He tried not to let the fact that he wasn’t get to him.  
            _If I can make-believe an entire alternate reality, then I can make-believe that I belong in it, too._  
            The thing that puzzled him most was that, in his head, the world made a lot more sense. No longer did he see pansies growing out of the ground in random places. He felt much calmer here, more in control. Things were _normal_ , to the point of being deceptive. Would his conversation with Jesse feel the same, or would he recognize all the flaws his representation would undoubtedly have? He had his money on the latter.  
            Upon getting to the shop, he discovered that things were already off. Namely, Jesse rushed over and opened the door for him when he saw him approaching. He held it open, waiting until Adam walked in to let it drift back shut.  
            “You weren’t joking, huh?” he asked. “You actually came today.”  
            “Of course,” Adam countered in a low voice. “I still have an obligation to be here, don’t I?”  
            _Oh, God, please tell me I still work here. Don’t take my miserable side-job with Jesse away from me, too._  
            “Yeah,” Jesse mumbled back, “I guess so. But I don’t want you pushing yourself, all right? I’m worried about you, after . . .” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down to the floor. “Y’know.” Then he looked Adam over before pointing out, “God, you must be freezing. It’s winter, y’know? Why didn’t you wear a sweater or something?”  
            It wasn’t until Jesse mentioned sweaters that Adam noticed he was wearing one.  
            “I didn’t think it was that cold,” he said. “Did you?”  
            “Dude, I was cold as shit, and I _drove_ here. Oh, that reminds me!” Jesse dug into his pockets before producing the rosary he’d hung on his rearview mirror. With the miniature crucified Jesus still dangling on its end, he held it out to Adam.  
            “Before I forget, I wanted you to have this.”  
            Adam stared at the rosary like it was an alien artifact. Then he looked at Jesse. “Why? I’m not religious.”  
            “I know that, but . . .” He shrugged. “I dunno. It’s overstayed its welcome in my car. Novelty wore off, y’know?”  
            Adam wondered when Jesse had started saying “y’know” so often. _Is that how he sounds to me?_  
            “I’d have a hard time selling this shit, so I figured you could do something with it if you want. It’ll be of more use to you than me somehow, I’m sure of it.”  
            Adam looked again at the rosary and something clicked in his head. He might not be religious, but it’d be significant considering all the religious metaphors he’d encountered with Evangeline. Of course Jesse should offer it to him. Everything would come back full circle to a religious undertone if he did.  
            He felt delusional for believing that in this world he was Adam and she’d been Eve. Rather than the apple, though, here they’d gone for each other. Their new punishment was permanent separation from each other. So, then, did that make Jesse God, offering him retribution in the form of Jesus Christ, his rosary?  
            _But Jesse only has connections to me here. He doesn’t even know Evangeline. Didn’t God create them both?_  
            With a vacant mind, Adam reached out and took the string of beads from Jesse. His friend gave him a small but pitying smile as he did, as if the beads were meant as some form of comfort. Were they? Adam couldn’t tell.  
            “Come on,” said Jesse, “let’s sit down and chat.”  
            “I’d rather not talk. I have nothing to say.”  
            “Yeah, well, I have something I need to get off of my chest, so too bad.” Despite the casual tone he used, Jesse gave Adam a guilty look. Adam raised his brows.  
            _Maybe he’ll confess his undying love for me._ Though this was a joke, Adam felt no humor as it ran through his head.  
            “All right?”  
            Adam sighed. “Fine. Let’s talk.”  
            The two of them headed for their stools as usual, but when Jesse sat on his, he did so facing Adam. Adam did not return this gesture; rather, he sat facing forward and glanced at Jesse in his peripheral. Jesse placed his hands on his own thighs and balled them into fists, which he lifted and lowered to hit his legs.  
            “Listen, uh, Adam . . .” He cleared his throat, staring at Adam’s feet on the bottom rung of his stool. “I have some things I need to say.”  
            Adam crossed his arms and didn’t look at Jesse as he said, “I’m listening.” _Nothing you say can surprise me, anyway._  
            A nervous huff. Then, “I feel like your mental breakdown”—he paused, glanced at Adam to gauge his response—“whatever you want to call it . . . Like it’s my fault.”  
            _Okay_ , Adam thought as he turned to Jesse in confusion. _I’ll admit I didn’t expect_ that _._  
            Jesse put a hand up in a dismissive way. “I know, I know. It sounds crazy. I shouldn’t have a reason to feel that way. But . . .” A shaky breath. “I do. Have a reason, I mean.”  
            “What are you talking about?”  
            After a beat of hesitation, Jesse asked, “How do you feel about me, Adam? What are we?”  
            “Excuse me? What does that have to do with anything?”  
            “Just answer me. I want to know where we stand before I say anything.”  
            “You’re my best friend, Jess,” Adam snapped. “We’re _friends_.”  
            But this answer seemed to be bad, as Jesse then hunched over, head in his hands. He let out a bittersweet chuckle, then mumbled, “I was afraid you’d say that.”  
            “Would you rather I have told you I hate you?”  
            “Yes,” Jesse admitted. He straightened himself and frowned at Adam.  
            “Why?”  
            “Because you’re going to hate me after what I have to say.”  
            Adam looked away with a grunt. “I doubt that.”  
            “At the very least, I won’t be your best friend anymore,” Jesse assured.  
            There was a long pause, during which Jesse’s warning sunk in for Adam.  
            _He means it, doesn’t he? What he’s going to say will tear us apart. He knows I’ll never forgive him for whatever it is._  
            Jesse looked down at the floor. “Adam, Larisa and—”  
            “Don’t say it,” Adam blurted.  
            “What?” Jesse looked back up at Adam, wide-eyed surprise written across his slender face. “You . . . You’d rather I . . . not say it?”  
            “Yeah.” Adam sat up straighter. “Yes.”  
            “I couldn’t do that to you. You deserve to know.”  
            The shorter man shook his head. “I don’t want to. If it’s bad enough to make me hate you, then I don’t _want_ to know. You’re all I have left.”  
            Again Jesse averted his eyes. He had his hands placed together between his knees and his body language made him seem small. “That’s not true,” he mumbled through a weak smile.  
            “It _is_ ,” Adam insisted. “I don’t have anyone else. Larisa’s cheating on me, Dr. Frost doesn’t give a shit, Evangeline doesn’t _exist_ anymore—”  
            “Evangeline doesn’t exist anymore because she never _did_ , Adam.”  
            “Take that back!” Adam snapped and pointed at Jesse as a warning. But then he paused and thought about Jesse’s response. “Wait . . . No, that . . . You shouldn’t know that . . .”  
            “I’ve always known about Evangeline,” Jesse confessed. “I know everything about her. All the messages she sent, the replies from you. . . I know it all, because . . .” He hesitated, gulped. “Because there never _was_ an Evangeline. It was me, Adam. It was always me.”  
            It took a few seconds for Adam to be able to feel his own heartbeat again. But when his pulse returned, his ability to think didn’t, leaving him with his jaw hanging open in stunned silence. “No,” he finally managed to whisper. “No. No, you’re . . . You’re lying. She was real, I—”  
            “She wasn’t, Adam. I can even show you where I got her profile picture.”  
            “No, she was! I _met_ her at the store, then at a coffee shop! She gave me a drawing, and I kept it in my room! It’s still there; I can show it to you! She was _real_ , Jesse!”  
            “I never meant for you to get so attached to her. I only made her up to distract you.”  
            “Distract me from _what_?” shrilled Adam.  
            “From Larisa.”  
            Adam’s heart sunk as he realized what Jesse meant. In disbelief, he shook his head.  
            “Adam, I’m so sorry. I’m a terrible friend, I know, but . . . If it’s any condolence, we split up. And if you have any anger about it, I want you to direct it at me.” Jesse tilted his head. “Larisa loves you, Adam. Forgive her for this. It was all my fault, anyway.”  
            One betrayal he could handle. If he’d confessed to having a relationship with Larisa without mentioning Evangeline, he could’ve stifled any reactions. But both revealed to him at once broke his façade before it even began.  
            _Of course it was him. Who else would it have been? He’s always been close with Larisa . . ._  
            “How long?” he asked, feeling numb.  
            “Only two months,” Jesse answered, “I think.” He cringed. “Maybe three, I don’t know.”  
            For some reason it was that uncertain addition that sent Adam over the edge. “You son of a bitch!” he screamed as he lunged toward Jesse.  
            “Whoa, hey, wait!” Jesse managed to say before Adam grabbed him by the throat. With almost too much ease, Adam turned and threw him to the floor.  
            “Okay, I deserved that,” he said as Adam straddled him. Then Adam punched him in the face, and he said in a gasp, “That too,” before he punched him again.  
            Adam could hardly control himself; his hands felt like they were pummeling Jesse on their own. When Jesse finally started to fight back with blind swats, it did little to stop his ruthless strikes.  
            _Stop it. I’m going to kill him if I keep on like this._  
            But his thoughts were also in vain. He couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. He had a month’s worth of stress to work out, and Jesse had become the unfortunate victim of it.  
            He heard the chime of the door opening but paid it no mind. Someone stepped closer to the desk and gasped when they saw the scene.  
            “Adam!” It was Larisa, and she reached down over the counter to grip his shoulder. “Adam, no! Stop!”  
            “Get away from me!” he roared at her, turning to roughly smack her arm away before returning to his previous action. Jesse stopped fighting, but only because he’d covered his bloodied face with his arms. Adam responded by grabbing and trying to pull them away, still punching at the side of his head with his other hand.  
            “Adam, if you don’t stop this right now, I’ll leave again!”  
            “Oh”—he chuckled—“you’d _better_ if you know what’s”— _Wait. ‘Again’?_  
            He whipped his head around when he heard the chime again. Through the windows he saw Evangeline running out, her green scarf whipping in the wind before she disappeared.  
            “Evangeline?” He stood up. “Evangeline, wait!” Then he leapt over the edge of the counter, a feat he didn’t think he could do, and rushed toward the door. “ _Eve_!”  
            He only made it halfway when, after hearing a grunt of effort from Jesse, a heavy weight around his ankle pulled him to the floor. As soon as he could, he looked back at his legs and found Jesse’s arms wrapped around one.  
            “Let me go, Jesse! I have to catch her!”  
            “I’m not letting you run off on your own,” he said through ragged breaths. “Not so you can try to kill yourself again.”  
            “You don’t understand; that was Evangeline! She was right there!”  
            “Adam . . .”  
            “What, you”—Adam’s anger began to dissipate, replaced with quiet concern as he looked at the door. “You didn’t see her?”  
            Jesse didn’t respond, so he closed his eyes and lowered his head to the floor.  
            “Adam, I’m sorry.”  
            “No,” Adam said against the floor. “ _I’m_ sorry.” He raised his head, then sat up, facing his friend who was still sprawled across the floor. “Are you all right? Should I drive you to the hospital?”  
            Jesse waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, pouting for effect. “Nah. It’s only a little head trauma. I should be fine.”  
            Adam stood, helping Jesse to his feet with him. The taller man placed a hand on his head out of pain, so he offered, “I’ll help you to your car and we’ll get you to a doctor.”  
            “No, really, it’s fine. Pack of ice might be nice, though.”  
            Realizing his bangs had fallen into his face, Adam slicked them back into place. Then, gasping from exertion, he glanced back at the door. Had Evangeline been nothing more than a hallucination?  
            _A hallucination within a hallucination? Is that even possible?_  
            “I think I’ve gone crazy, Jesse,” he panted, voice cracking with emotion as he dug his fingers into his hair and across his scalp. “I’ve lost my mind.”  
            “I’m so sorry,” Jesse said. “This is all my fault.”  
            Adam looked at him. He wanted to tell him he was wrong; that he wasn’t to blame; that his madness was his own fault. But for some reason, maybe because it was easier, he said nothing, allowing Jesse to take the blame without protest.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on January 16th, 2018.

There would be no returning to his normal routine. It was futile to even try. Even so, on Friday morning, he decided that resigning to the futility wasn’t something he wanted to do. His life could go on regardless; maybe he’d hallucinate Evangeline again. But did he really want a world where she existed only to him in moments of stress?  
            _Well,_ he figured, _it’s better than nothing, right?_  
            Larisa wasn’t in bed beside him when he woke up, but he couldn’t tell if that was because she was downstairs or at work. It didn’t seem likely to be the latter; she’d taken the week off, hadn’t she? He couldn’t be sure, though.  
            Once out of bed, the first thing Adam did was pull on his jeans. Then he considered what he could do today that would feel “normal”. Technically he should go to the pawn shop. But he didn’t want to risk hurting Jesse again. He found himself too unpredictable to ensure that wouldn’t happen, so he thought of his other options.  
            If his mind weren’t such a mess, working on a video might’ve been his best shot. But as things stood, he felt that anything he tried to make would be either insane or of low quality. So that left him with only one real option: going to the store.  
            _Has my life always been so monotonous? Shouldn’t there be other things for me to do other than work, work from home, and go grocery shopping?_  
            It’d never struck him how boring and repetitive his life was until then. If there was something else he could do, he couldn’t think of it. They could always use more groceries, though, he supposed.  
            _Whatever. It’s better than staying here to drive myself further down the rabbit hole._  
            He knew it would be cold outside, like it had been yesterday, but this time decided he wanted to look warm. Not that it mattered; if Larisa was still here, he’d drive to the store. At least, assuming she’d let him. Either way, he went to the closet and began shuffling through the hangers, searching for his black zip-up sweater.  
            _Not in the front . . . Not in the back . . . Where the hell is it?_  
            Confused, he started looking through Larisa’s side of the closet. He doubted the sweater would be there, but it wasn’t in his side, so where else could it be?  
            _Must’ve misplaced it the last time I wore it._  
            Near the back of Larisa’s side, he found a bunch of dresses she hadn’t worn in years: the dark red one she’d worn on their first date, the one she’d worn to prom 16 years ago, and the long white one she’d worn at their wedding, to name a few. He couldn’t help but wonder why she bothered to keep them when only some (if any) still fit her. Was it their sentimental value? The nostalgia in looking at them and remembering how they’d felt when she wore them?  
            It wasn’t easy for him to understand, since he’d never kept any of the clothes he’d worn to such events. Most of the time, if he did wear a tuxedo, it was a rental. Even his mother had kept a bunch of old dresses, though, so he assumed it was something most women did. Whatever the case, his sweater wasn’t likely to be mixed in with the dresses; Larisa never touched them as far as he knew.  
            He was about to turn away from the closet when something behind Larisa’s wedding gown caught his eye. It was a dark juniper green color; that alone made his heart skip a beat. For a long moment he stood frozen, staring at the knitted wool poking out from behind the white chiffon dress. And though nerves had him by the throat, he soon mustered the strength to push the dress out of the way. Hanging on a set of two skinny wire hangers at the very back of the closet was a scarf, the one worn by Evangeline. His mind went blank. Then came more questions.  
            This scarf belonged to Evangeline. But now that she didn’t exist, it was in his wife’s closet. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was it supposed to tell him that she was in on the fabrication of Evangeline too? No, she couldn’t have been. Could she?  
            With shaky hands, he pulled the scarf free from the hangers and held it in front of himself. It was the same scarf, all right. He wasn’t sure how, but he could tell. Would he find the rest of Evangeline’s clothes with Larisa’s if he kept digging? Rather than test it, he let his head turn itself to look back at his side of the closet. Sure enough, his eyes fell upon his elusive sweater, hidden behind an old shirt.  
            He headed downstairs after getting dressed. The television was on in the living room, but when he got down to the first floor, Larisa came out of the dining room to intercept him.  
            “Morning, honey,” she said. Then, after noticing the sweater and scarf, “You’re not going somewhere without telling me again, are you?”  
            He managed a small, semi-amused scoff. “No. I was actually coming down to let you know where I’m heading.”  
            “Well, that’s a surprise,” teased Larisa as she followed him into the kitchen. When Adam looked at the counter and stared at the foreign mug sitting next to hers, she realized why. “It’s your birthday present, from me. I take it you didn’t notice it before.”  
            “Ah. Thanks.” He took the mug, then picked up the pot of coffee that was still brewing. Silence. Adam tilted the pot and began pouring the dark brown liquid into his mug. Still, silence. Suddenly, “Larisa, do you love Jesse?”  
            At first, Larisa gave no response whatsoever. Then she whipped her head up to look at Adam, staring at him like a deer in the headlights. “What?”  
            “Jesse told me everything. Or at least enough. Do you love him?”  
            The woman stammered, unable to come up with an answer.  
            “Be honest,” he requested in a sad, gentle voice. “I won’t be mad, I promise.”  
            This calmed Larisa, who looked down at her hands as she clasped them in front of herself. She leaned against the doorway and sighed. “I love the idea of him,” she admitted quietly.  
            Adam looked at her after a beat. “Are you happy with him?”  
            “I wouldn’t want to live with him,” was her answer, with a tilted head.  
            He processed this as he looked back at his mug, now filled two-thirds of the way up with coffee. The pot returned to the coffee maker, then he reached for a teaspoon.  
            “I want you to be happy, Larisa,” he said as he dipped the spoon into a bag of sugar.  
            “I am.”  
            “Being in love with two people is no way to live.” He started stirring his coffee, staring down into it as he did. “It’ll drive you insane.”  
            “Adam.” Larisa stepped closer and grabbed his face, making him look at her. It reminded him of Evangeline and thus made him cringe, but that didn’t deter her. “I love you,” she declared. “ _You_ , not Jesse. I know I can’t make it up to you; the way I betrayed you is unforgivable. But I stopped seeing him. From now on, I’ll be nothing but faithful to you, because I realized that if I lost you”—she cut herself off when her voice cracked. Mouth shut and lips quivering, she blinked back the tears that had started to form and gave her head a light shake. She took a deep breath to stabilize herself.  
            “I’d rather die than lose you, Adam,” she concluded. “You’re my husband, and I’ve been such an idiot to ignore that.”  
            Adam managed a tiny smile. He took one of her hands from his face and gazed at it before planting a delicate kiss on her knuckles.  
            _Oh, how I wish you were the real Larisa . . ._  
            Larisa smiled back at him, so he let go of her hand. When he returned to his coffee, she cleared her throat and said, “You never told me what happened yesterday. I can only guess that you went to the pawn shop, right?”  
            He nodded.  
            “Jesse told you about me and him.”  
            He nodded again.  
            “Anything else?”  
            Adam shook his head. “No. Not much. Just a regular day at the pawn shop.” The less Larisa knew, the better. Her blissful ignorance to his growing madness made it easier for him to pretend he was still okay.  
            The woman shrugged. After a beat she changed the subject. “Anyway, where’s that scarf from?”  
            “I was about to ask you,” Adam responded. “I found it at the back of _your_ side of the closet, after all.”  
            “Did you?” She glanced down at the scarf, stared at it with scrutiny. “Oh! Wow, I almost didn’t recognize it.”  
            “You know where it’s from?”  
            “Yeah, of course. You gave it to me the first day we moved in together. Told me to hide it away somewhere safe, where you’d never see it. So I put it at the back of my half of the closet.”  
            Adam picked up his teaspoon and headed for the sink, turned on the faucet. “Did I ever tell you why I had it to begin with?”  
            “You said it was your sister’s, didn’t you?”  
            His hand stopped mid-movement, holding the spoon in the air, extended toward the running water but not quite there yet. His mind ran circles around that answer. It belonged to his sister?  
            _But . . . I don’t_ have _a sister._  
            “And no offense to her, wherever she is,” continued Larisa with a chuckle, “but that is one god-awful scarf. I can see why she’d hand it off to her brother.” She paused. “Why don’t you ever talk about her? Not on good terms? Sibling rivalry?”  
            Adam dropped the spoon, causing it to clatter in the sink; the cacophonic sound of metal hitting metal. “I’m going to the store,” he blurted. “Need anything?”  
            “Okay, you _still_ don’t want to talk about her, then. I don’t know. Should I go with you?”  
            “No. Well, actually . . . No, forget it. I want to go alone.”  
            “You’re sure?”  
            “Yeah. I need to get back into my routine somehow.”  
            “Sure, but you don’t have to jump straight into going places alone . . . I’ll go get dressed.” She turned to leave the kitchen.  
            “Don’t,” he protested. “I’ll be fine, honest. You know me; I cope better on my own.”  
            Larisa looked at him. She chewed at her lip. Then she sighed and said, “Fine. I guess we need some things. But don’t make me regret not going with you.”  
            He flashed her a dorky but bittersweet grin and told her, “I won’t.”

* * *

As Adam drove to the store, he started to think that he could adapt. He could learn to live in this world, regardless of whether he’d ever find a way out. Sure, Evangeline didn’t exist, and now he had a sister he never spoke of and didn’t know. But Larisa loved him, she’d confessed to cheating, and he had the scarf to remind him of Evangeline. Things weren’t as trivial as he’d thought; he could keep himself in check—keep himself sane.  
            It was as he stopped the car in the store’s parking lot that he had a thought and reached into his coat’s pocket. Inside he found both the mystery key and the rosary that Jesse had given him. He took the latter and, taking inspiration from Jesse’s use, wrapped it around the base of the rearview mirror. The way the crucifix dangled reminded him of reality on its own, but for added effect he flicked it. As it swung back and forth like a wild pendulum, he found himself giving it a wistful smile.  
            _I’ll accept my fate. This is my life now. I’ll keep seeing Dr. Frost, and he’ll help me conform to this world’s norms. He’ll help me forget that this isn’t real._  
            _No, that’s wrong. This_ is _real: it’s my reality now. I’ll make it my reality._  
            As he stepped out of the car, he realized that it was snowing again. He looked up at the overcast sky and held out his hand. This time, when the snowflakes touched his palm, he was able to feel some semblance of cold.  
            “This is my life now,” he repeated to himself, under his breath.  
            He went inside and started shopping like normal. Not a glance was given to the produce section, though. He didn’t want to risk everything unravelling at the sight of a misplaced apple (or the lack thereof).  
            Everything was fine . . . until he saw her. She was standing in the cereal aisle, looking at the brands with indecision written across her young face. Her platinum hair reflected the light above her as if it were from the sun. One of her hands was buried in the pocket of her black thigh-length coat. The moment he noticed her, Adam dropped his basket with complete disregard for whatever was inside. Then, he approached her. She looked up at him once she realized he was staring at her.  
            Unsure of what else to say, he only said her name: “Eve.”  
            The girl tilted her head like a confused puppy. “Um . . . Yes?”  
            When he pulled her close, into a tight embrace, at first she did nothing, as if stunned by the sudden intimacy. He could feel her body heat—the warmth of her breath on his chest—and it was better than the cold of winter could’ve ever been.  
            “I thought you were gone,” he whimpered. “Do you have any idea how much that messed me up?”  
            “What?” She felt tense in his embrace and didn’t reciprocate it, but her voice remained more or less composed.  
            “I knew it couldn’t be true. I knew you weren’t gone. Of all the places for you to not exist, not here; not in my world.” He held her tighter. “Please don’t leave me again. I love you, I’ll admit it. As crazy as it is, I love you too.”  
            Evangeline started fighting to get away, which surprised him. “Let go,” she said. “Let me go!”  
            “Eve, shh, it’s me. It’s all right.”  
            “Get away, you creep!”  
            “You said you’d pretend not to recognize me,” he pointed out. “But you don’t have to. Eve, I love you. I made a mistake. Please forgive me.”  
            But she wouldn’t let up. “Help! Someone, help me!” When she began fighting harder he let her go, but as she turned to flee he caught her arm and she shrieked. People were beginning to look down the aisle in morbid curiosity, but no one stepped in.  
            “Stop it,” he scolded, “you’re making a scene!”  
            “I don’t know this man! Get him away from me!”  
            “You do know me! You love me! Eve, stop pretending; it’s not funny anymore!”  
            It took the manager and a few customers to pry Evangeline away from him. Once she was free, she took off running for the nearest exit. As they reprimanded him in the aisle, he watched as she hesitated and looked back at him. That one glance was all he needed to remind him that it was only an act. She’d wait for him before leaving the parking lot, he knew it.  
            A few minutes later, the manager told him he’d have to leave. He agreed, much to the manager’s simultaneous relief and confusion. Wondering if he should’ve made a fuss, he allowed the man to escort him out. In the parking lot he made a beeline for his own car. Then he waited.  It took a minute for the manager to return inside.  
            Adam waited. Like a robot, he waited, sitting upright with his hands on the wheel and the ignition on. He was ready to drive. But he waited.  
            A car left the other side of the parking lot. A car that he recognized.  
            Evangeline’s car.  
            _I knew she’d wait._  
            He was careful to tail her from a distance. As he drove he found it hard to believe that a few minutes ago he’d thought he could live without her. The moment he saw her in the store he’d realized it was only a ruse, told to keep himself sane. He didn’t care anymore if he was crazy. The fact of the matter was that he needed her now; he couldn’t live without her. This was what she’d wanted.  
            So he followed her, until she drove her car into a small parking garage. He waited outside, on the other side of the street from its entrance. A few minutes passed before he realized she wasn’t going to come back out. He brought his attention to the building connected to it; a multi-storey building. Even from the outside he could tell it was some sort of apartment complex.  
            _If that’s the case_ , he thought, _I’d need a key to get in through any entrance._  
            He didn’t have that, and she wasn’t going to make it easy for him by letting him in herself. Maybe there was someone at the front desk. Was it that kind of apartment complex? He couldn’t tell, but he somehow felt certain that it was, as if he’d been inside before.  
            _Don’t tell me I lived here after staying in Motel 6 all those years ago._ It was possible, but unlikely; unlike Motel 6, he had no recollection of this building at all.  
            Even if there was someone at the front desk, what could he say to them to find out which apartment belonged to Eve?  
            _“Hi, I’m here to see a friend, but I don’t know which apartment she’s in”? If she wanted to see me, why wouldn’t she give me the number? They’d think I’m a stalker for sure!_  
            He was desperate, but hoping for a miracle seemed pointless. Try as he may, he couldn’t think of a way to find her. There was a feeling in his head, like something in him was screaming, that made him start screaming too. From what emotion, he couldn’t tell, but as he screamed he struck the steering wheel twice, honking the horn by accident.  
            It was the second blare of the horn that made him jolt straight up in his seat. All of a sudden, his mind was clear. He could think again. The first thing he thought, he said to himself under his breath: “Flowers.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on January 23rd, 2018.

There was a flower shop nearby that he’d never been to before. In fact, he’d never been to any flower shop before; he wasn’t much of a flower-giving guy. He’d often stuck with buying girls chocolates or cards. Flowers, he’d thought, would die too fast. Before they did, they’d only be in a vase somewhere, ignored. They were too expensive for their worth. He much preferred the alternatives.  
            But now he found himself frantic, desperate to buy flowers— _only_ flowers. Evangeline’s bouquet and the pansies he’d seen everywhere were hints; this was the only way to get her back now. There was no way any doorman would turn away a love-struck man looking to adorn a beautiful girl with a bouquet, right? Flowers would help him convince them to tell him which apartment she was in. He could only hope that it was actually her apartment, and not someplace she’d visited.  
             _But she wouldn’t lead me on like that, knowing I was following her . . . Would she?_  
            There was no one behind the counter, so he rang the call bell on the glass counter. Silence. He tried to be patient, tapping his fingertips against the transparent surface. But when nothing happened after a few minutes, he reached out and banged on the bell in rapid succession. At last, out came a young man who looked to be in his early-to-mid-twenties. He reminded Adam of a stereotypical nerd with his slicked hair parted to the side and long-sleeved dress shirt tucked into his pants.  
            “Hello, sir,” he greeted in a cheery voice. He had a bit of a lisp. “How can I help you today?”  
            “Today?” asked Adam. “Have I been here before?”  
            The man’s smile faltered only slightly. “Not that I know of, sir.”  
            “Good. Listen, this might sound odd, but I need a bouquet of purple pansies and red honey flowers.”  
            The man behind the counter raised his brows. “Honey flowers? Are you sure?”  
            “Yes, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be sure?”  
            “I mean, that would say . . .”  
            “I know what it means.”  
            “That, and . . . Well, honey flowers aren’t, um, common here. In fact, I’m pretty sure we never carry them. They’re native to Australia, you see. Chicago, not so much. Sorry.”  
            “Could you look?”  
            The man seemed reluctant, but soon shrugged. “I’ll be right back,” he said. Then he disappeared through a doorway with plastic flaps over it.  
            Adam waited there, tapping his foot on the floor and his fingers against the counter. He felt like a bundle of nerves—like a bunch of coiled springs waiting to burst outward in every direction at the slightest shift of pressure. What if they didn’t have the honey flowers? He couldn’t give Evangeline a bouquet without both.  
             _But perhaps I can take some liberties . . . I mean, are pansies and honey flowers suitable anymore? Our love is still forbidden but I don’t feel like it is . . ._  
            The man returned empty-handed. “Sorry, sir. We don’t have any honey flowers.”  
            “Fine.” Adam looked around the room, and his eyes caught on a bed of different red flowers. They looked a bit like honey flowers, so he pointed at them and asked, “What are those?”  
            “Oh, those? They’re English sowbread—cyclamen flowers, to be more specific.”  
            “What do they mean?”  
            The man looked at Adam, seeming to catch on. “I don’t think you’d want them, sir. They mean, err, ‘goodbye’ in most contexts.”  
            Adam considered it. “No, that’ll do fine. I’d like them and some pansies in a bouquet.”  
            “Sir”—the man laughed nervously—“you’d usually find cyclamen bouquets at funerals. By ‘goodbye’, I mean they suggest death or loss. It’s a poisonous flower. Not one you’d want to give a lover, which, judging by your prior request, I assume is who you’re giving it to . . .” He cleared his throat. “Sorry if I’m being presumptuous.”  
            “What would be the understood meaning of both flowers together?” Adam inquired.  
            There was a pause, then the man guessed, “Something like ‘I’m thinking of saying goodbye to you’, I suppose.”  
            Adam thought, blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, that works. How much for a bouquet?”  
            Seeing as it was none of his business, the man sighed and relented. He threw together the bouquet with care before telling Adam the price. It was more expensive than he’d expected somehow, but he paid anyway, without hesitation. The man watched him as he left; if Adam had to guess, he was likely shaking his head.  
            Adam jumped into the driver’s seat and tossed the bouquet down onto the dashboard. This new combination had given him an idea; a way out of everything he found himself in now. He could still return to his previous life. But first he needed to deliver the bouquet to its rightful owner.

* * *

Before getting out of the car, he took a breath and used the rearview mirror to look at himself. His hair was a mess, bangs having fallen down over his face at some point. After wetting his hand with his tongue, he used it to slick his hair back into its usual shape. It helped to mask how disheveled he was, but he wasn’t sure that his body language wouldn’t reveal it anyway. He had a slight jitter to him even as he sat still in the driver’s seat.  
            Once he’d decided that he was ready, he picked up the bouquet and got out of the car. The apartment complex was on the other side of the street. As he approached it, he took another deep breath and adjusted the scarf around his throat. Expecting the entrance to be locked, he knocked on the glass window at the top of the door. He hoped there _was_ a doorman. He expected there to be, but had no evidence to suggest that. For all he knew, it could be one of those apartments where the only way in was to knock on someone’s window and hope they’d let you inside. After knocking, he retracted his hand and breathed on it in a pitiful attempt to keep warm. He should’ve worn gloves.  
            It took a few seconds before someone appeared on the other side of the glass. With a click, they pushed open the heavy white door. The doorman happened to be the hugest man that Adam had ever seen. He was mostly muscle, standing at almost seven feet tall. And through his terror, Adam realized he looked familiar somehow. He couldn’t place him, but felt as though they’d seen each other before. Though he couldn’t figure it out, the doorman’s eyes lit up with recognition upon getting a better look at him.  
            “Adam?” he asked.  
            Adam tilted his head and squinted his eyes in thought. He paused, hesitant. “Eric?”  
            Eric Dane stood up straight and let out a small, gruff chuckle. “Huh. Small world,” he remarked. Then he gestured for Adam to enter, which he did, before he closed the door behind him. There was a front desk hidden behind a golden wire mesh, behind that a typical office with filing cabinets. At the end of the entrance corridor was an elevator, so Adam guessed that one of the obscured corners led to a stairwell. The entire building had an orange tint to it, with a dark red carpet that for some reason struck Adam as unusual.  
            “I’ll say. I’d thought you left Chicago to . . .” He hesitated again, unsure. “. . . box?”  
            The bulky man shrugged. “I did, for a while. But my old man went down to Texas on vacation, so he asked me if I would take some time to help out.”  
            “As a doorman at this very apartment complex,” Adam observed. “Wow. What are the odds of that?”  
            Again, Eric shrugged. “I haven’t seen you in years. How’ve you been?”  
            “Um, fine,” he lied through his teeth. “Never better.”  
            “By the way, that door wasn’t locked.” He gestured to the entrance. “Everyone always thinks it is. No one ever thinks to try opening it for some reason.”  
            “Oh. Yeah, I . . . figured it’d be locked.”  
            “I swear, I should put a sign up. One of those store signs, you know: ‘Come in, we’re open!’” He chuckled a bit, but when Adam didn’t react, he regained his composure. “What brings you here?”  
            Adam glanced down at the bouquet. “I’m, uh . . . visiting a friend.”  
            Eric stared at the bouquet—at Adam’s wedding band on his ring finger of the hand he held it in. “That’s good. How’s your wife? Larisa, right?”  
            “She’s fine.”  
            Eric nodded. “I won’t keep you any longer. Nice seeing you again, Adam.”  
            “Hold on. I have a small problem that I hope you can help me with.”  
            “Yeah?”  
            “See, um . . .” He held up the bouquet. “I don’t know which apartment she’s in. My friend, I mean.”  
            “Ah. I see,” Eric moaned with a serious face.  
            “If I told you her name, could you tell me where to take these?”  
            “I don’t know, Adam. I’m not allowed to do that. I could get into some serious shit for that.”  
            “Please, Eric, it’s important. I’ll leave the flowers by her door.”  
            Eric sighed and crossed his arms. “I can take them to her room after you leave,” he said. “That’s the best I can offer.”  
            Adam opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself before he got a word out.  
             _He’s right,_ t _his_ is _the best he can do. He’s not going to tell me which apartment she’s in, because that’s illegal. Besides, why wouldn’t she have told me that herself if she wanted me to know? I can still work with this . . . hopefully._  
            So he sighed and said, “All right, thanks.” He handed the bouquet over to Eric, who took it with him into his office. Adam watched him through the wire-covered window as he sat down at the front desk.  
            “I have a damage report to fill out,” he revealed. “Once I’m done, I’ll give the bouquet to . . .” He glanced at the tag on the bouquet, which read “From: Adam, To: Eve”. “What’s her full name?”  
            “Evangeline Thompson.”  
            “Ah. I’ll take this to Evangeline when I’m done,” he repeated.  
            “Thanks, Eric. I owe you one.”  
            “Don’t mention it. Have a good day and all that.”  
            “You too.”  
            Adam then left, allowing the heavy entrance door to swing shut behind him. His next dilemma, then, was how long to wait before re-entering. How long would it take Eric to get around to delivering the flowers? If he went in too early, he’d catch him snooping around. If he went in too late, he’d miss his only chance to follow him. The real problem was not knowing which floor Evangeline’s apartment was on. If he only knew that much, everything would be so much simpler! He’d have to guess.  
            First, he crept past the door to stand near the other side of it. This way he could steal glances through the glass to catch a glimpse of the wire netting over the front desk. It was hard to know for sure, but he thought he could make out the top of Eric’s bald head. But his worry was that if he could see anything of Eric, then Eric could see him looking in. After each glance he’d pull his head back and turn his gaze onto the street. Nothing of interest happened outside; no one walked nor drove past, nor did anyone exit the neighboring buildings. The street this apartment building was on seemed to be a quiet one.  
            All of a sudden, when he glanced back he saw Eric standing in front of the elevator, bouquet in hand. He waited until the elevator doors opened to pull his head back. Then he counted.  
             _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten._  
            Adam whipped around and looked through the window. Sure enough, the elevator doors were now closed, with Eric no longer there. He hurried in and dashed to the doors. His eyes shot up to the numbers above them, watching as the lit-up number increased from two to three. It then remained there, unblinking, solid. That was all he needed.  
            He looked left, prepared to look right but not needing to; to his left he found the door to the stairwell. In a feverish rush he tore it open, lunging onto the first floor landing. The stairs were concrete, with red guardrails. He leapt them two at a time, four landings up before pulling open the door to the third floor with caution. In a nearby corridor, though it was hard to determine which one, he heard footsteps on the carpet. How to figure out which one, though? It wasn’t the corridor before him, so that left him with two other options. With brisk but quiet steps, he made his way to the wall that separated the corridor in front of him from the middle one and pressed his back against it. Eric’s footsteps didn’t sound too far away, but then they stopped. There was the faint sound of him knocking on a door in the center corridor.  
             _Should I peek now? What if he happens to glance back toward the elevator?_  
            Adam found himself petrified by indecision. He needed to see where Eric was, but didn’t want to risk being seen. A door opened down the hall, then he heard Evangeline’s youthful voice.  
            “Hi,” she greeted Eric with warmth.  
            “Delivery,” said Eric.  
            “Oh my gosh. Are those for me? From who?”  
            “A friend of mine, Adam Keir.”  
            A pause.  
            “Who?” The question, despite only being one syllable long, struck Adam like a freight train.  
            “Oh. I assumed you knew him.”  
            “Not that I know of . . . Are you sure these aren’t for someone else?”  
            “He told me they were for you. Gave me your full name.”  
            “Heh, that’s a little creepy . . . Here, uh, you should get rid of these.”  
            “You’re sure? They’re nice flowers.”  
             _I bet she’s noticing the cyclamen._  
            “Um, yeah, I’m sure. They give me a bad feeling somehow.”  
            “If you insist. Well, have a good day.”  
            “You too! Bye. Oh, wait!”  
            “What?”  
            “When do you think you’ll be able to get someone to fix my stove?”  
            “I finished the report for it. I’ll see if I can arrange for someone to drop by to inspect it in the next day or two. I’ll let you know.”  
            “All right, thank you!”  
            “No problem.”  
            When the door closed, Eric’s footsteps approached. Adam ducked around the corner, out of sight. He glanced around the wall in time to watch Eric press the call button. With a sigh, he dropped the bouquet into a trash bin beside the elevator doors as they opened. Adam pulled his head back and held his breath until he heard the doors close. Well, Eric hadn’t caught him, at least. But he still didn’t know which apartment belonged to Evangeline.  
            He wandered down the second corridor, trying to guess which door was hers based on the distance of her voice. It was easier said than done. Besides, even if he did figure out which was hers, what did it matter? It wasn’t like he’d be able to get inside. Then, all of a sudden, something occurred to him.  
            From his coat pocket, Adam pulled out the mysterious silver key. Engraved upon it was the number “317”. He looked up at the door in front of him. Its gold numbers read “315”. So he turned his head to the left and stepped to the last door on that side of the hall. This one read “317”, like the key. As much as he wanted to try the door right that instant, he couldn’t bring himself to. Last thing he wanted was for Evangeline to see him enter unannounced. What if she started screaming or called the police? If he wanted to enter, he’d have to do so later.  
            So he adapted, by changing his plan on the spot. With determination he approached the elevator. He reached into the trash bin and pulled out the bouquet.  
             _It’s good that she declined it_ , he thought to himself. _After all, I don’t think she was actually the one I bought it for._  
            Putting the flowers under his arm, he reached out to press the call button but stopped himself short. It was too dangerous to leave through the main entrance; if Eric saw him with the bouquet . . . But how else to escape?  
             _The parking garage!_  
            He found a set of heavy white double doors on the left-hand side of the first corridor. Sure enough, they opened freely from his side, so he stepped through. Before letting them close, though, he hesitated. Did he want to try propping them open so he could get in later?  
             _No. Someone will notice and close them properly. It’d only be a waste of time._  
            He took a breath and let the doors shut, creating a rather large echo throughout that floor of the garage. When he tried to pull them open again, he found them locked, as he’d expected. Rather than fret over this, he took another deep breath and sorted himself.  
            It was growing dark outside already. Damned winter and its late afternoon darkness. He felt like he could appreciate it tonight, though. A few more stops and the night would be over. After that, he could finally get some sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on January 30th, 2018.

When Larisa finally returned home, she found the car in the driveway. The sight of it brought her overwhelming relief. Its presence meant that Adam had returned; that alone almost made the past three hours of searching for him worth it. Both angry and eager to see her seemingly missing husband, she hurried inside.  
            The first thing she noticed was that Adam’s coat wasn’t hung up, nor were his boots near the door. There were puddles along the glossy hardwood floor leading to the dining room, though. She didn’t bother to undress either, preferring instead to follow the path of the puddles.  
            “Adam? Adam, are you here?”  
            What caught her eye in the dining room was the plant on the dining table, now replaced by a real bouquet. It contained purple pansies and a few red flowers that she had trouble recognizing. At first, the flowers touched her, as she saw them as Adam’s way of apologizing. But then she realized that the red flowers were in fact cyclamen flowers; the floral symbols of loss, death, and farewell. The meaning of the bouquet then twisted, leaving her with a heavy feeling of dread that gnawed at her heart.  
            The faint sounds of beads clicking together and paper shuffling made her whip her head to the right. There, sitting on the couch in the living room, was Adam. He sat hunched, reading something by the looks of it. Without saying anything, she stepped closer and peaked over his shoulder.  
            He was reading the Holy Bible; some part of Genesis, it seemed. This struck her as odd, as too did the brown rosary wrapped around his right palm. She’d been certain that Adam wasn’t religious. Whether this change was due to his recent breakdown, she couldn’t be sure. Either way, this and the strange bouquet combined to form terror in her mind.  
            “Adam?” she beckoned, holding out her hand to touch her husband but not sure if she should.  
            Without moving, his words were abrupt: “You know, I can’t tell whose fault it is that Adam and Eve ate the apple. Everyone seems to blame the serpent. But isn’t it Eve’s fault for giving in to peer pressure? Adam’s for trusting Eve? Or is it God’s, for making the tree in the first place? The serpent, though . . . Why, he was only trying to help.”  
            Larisa said nothing, unsure of how to respond. Try as she may, she couldn’t wrap her head around this sudden infatuation with the moral standing of Genesis.  
            “Seems to me like the serpent was the only innocent one there. And God punishes each of them for something inevitable due to his own fuck-up. It’s as if He wanted an _excuse_ to punish them.”  
            “But . . . It was a test, wasn’t it?” asked Larisa, voice shaking a bit. “I mean, God put the fruit there as a test for them, and—and they failed.”  
            “A test of what?” Adam looked at her over his shoulder. “Of obedience? Obedience to a higher power that keeps you under its spell? Shouldn’t He have _wanted_ them to seek knowledge?” He shook his head, turning back to the bible in his hands. “No, of course not. He wanted slaves too ignorant to go against Him. Too ignorant to not trust every word He uttered.”  
            She found relief in the fact that he still sounded like an atheist, but it didn’t help much. So she attempted to veer the subject away from the Bible. “Um . . . Adam, those flowers on the dining room table . . .”  
            “Oh, good. You noticed them.”  
            “They’re, uh, very pretty, but . . .”  
            “The cyclamen flowers are troubling.”  
            Glad that he was on the same page as her, she exhaled. “Yes. They make the bouquet rather”—she wanted to say “grotesque”, but it seemed too offensive—“ _disturbing_.”  
            “I’m glad you realize that.”  
            She faltered with that response. He was _glad_ that the flowers worried her?  
            “Adam, honey . . . Are you okay?”  
            “I don’t know anymore, Larisa. But I don’t think I am.”  
            Larisa exhaled and looked back at the bouquet on the table. When she approached it, intent on getting rid of it, she paused when Adam snapped,  
            “No. It stays.”  
            She turned and looked at him again. “Why? It’s so grim.”  
            “Because I got it for you.”  
            “That’s silly. Maybe you didn’t understand what it implies, but I do, so . . .”  
            “I know exactly what it implies. I did when I bought it.”  
            “Then let me get rid of it. Neither of us is dead, and we’re happily married, so neither of us is leaving.”  
            Adam said nothing.  
            “Right?”  
            Nothing. Silence. Then suddenly Adam said, “You know, I remember everything now.” His voice sounded bittersweet and sad. “About my childhood. About my family—my sister.”  
            Larisa stood up straighter and crossed her arms over her chest. Adam had never told her much about his family, only that the scarf he gave her (and now wore) belonged to his sister. Whenever she tried to approach the subject, he always became quiet, so she knew next to nothing. Thus, the offer to learn more intrigued her.  
            “Her name was Abby. She was four years younger than me, born on December 1 st of 1986. She was a month early, but she pulled through. I held her in my arms when my mother brought her home from the hospital. Until that point, I’d thought babies were hideous, even though I was still one myself. But when I held Abby in my arms . . .” Adam held the rosary tighter, making the beads click together as he sighed. “She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I swore then that I’d protect her with my life; I’d be her big brother until the day I died.  
            “Growing up, she liked me more than either of our parents. If I left the room she’d cry and cry, on and on until I returned or she wore herself out.” He lowered his head. “She loved me. I loved her too, I did, but . . .”  
            The word hung in the air for a long moment before Larisa finally repeated it: “But?”  
            Adam turned his head and looked at her over the couch. His brows had furrowed and the grief in his eyes was plain to see, but he smiled as if to hide it. “I killed her.”  
            For a beat Larisa only stared at him, processing those words—those three gruesome words that sent a chill down her spine. “What, uh . . . What do you mean?”  
            “We had a fireplace. Our mother always lit it at night, and Abby and I would gaze at it. I liked fire—we both did. One night, mother didn’t light it. She wouldn’t say why, but it made Abby sad that we couldn’t sit together and enjoy the fire. I wanted to make her happy again, so I tried to light it myself. I’d watched our mother do it a thousand times.  
            “I must’ve missed something. Maybe I hadn’t watched close enough. Maybe she hadn’t lit the fire because there was something wrong with the fireplace. Either way, next thing I knew, there was a fire. It spread through the house like vapor, as if the air itself were igniting. I heard Abby call my name. The fire was blocking the hallway to our bedrooms.”  
            He looked away and continued, “I wanted to save her, but the flames were too intense. I would’ve died if I’d tried. She was reaching out for me and screaming my name, begging for me to save her. And to be honest, despite the risk . . . I considered it. But before I could run into the flames, my mother grabbed me and rushed out of the house. I remember fighting her. Abby’s screams got drowned out by the raging fire that I’d caused.  
            “I hope at least that she went quickly—that the house caving it on itself got her before the flames did. I’ve spent my whole life trying to forget her, because I knew that I could never make it up to her: that I lived while she died.”  
            Larisa took this information in before clasping her hands. What he was telling her was a lot to digest, but it explained a lot. At least now she knew the reason why he never let her buy candles.  
            “Adam,” she began on a solemn breath. “You can’t blame yourself. It was an accident.”  
            “No. There’s no such thing as an accident. I should’ve been more careful, or at least asked my mother to do it for me. I was careless. It was my fault.” Then he straightened himself, and in a brighter tone added, “That said, I’ve finally figured out how to make amends with her.”  
            “Oh?”  
            There was a beat where neither of them made a sound. Adam slouched a bit.  
            “Larisa, could you get me some coffee?” he asked in a low, gentle voice.  
            “Sure,” she replied, equally timid. She turned around and headed for the kitchen, pushing a strand of hair that had fallen into her face out of the way as she did. Upon entering the room, she took a deep breath.  
            _Was any of that true?_ She wondered. There was no way of telling whether it was real or another delusion of his. But she figured it was better to believe him than it was to doubt him. Last thing she wanted was to push him away. _What did he mean when he said that he knows how to make amends?_  
            She approached the coffee maker, half vacant, and pulled the pot out. It still had some coffee in it. No, not _still_ ; the coffee inside was fresh and still hot. The maker was on.  
            _Could’ve sworn this was off when I left . . . Whatever._  
            Gazing at the pot, she blindly reached for Adam’s mug. When her hand grasped at nothing a few times, though, she looked. Her mug was still there, a few inches to the left, but Adam’s was gone. She froze, staring at the vacant space on the counter. Somehow, when added to everything else, the mug’s disappearance was a bad sign.  
            _Get a grip, Larisa. He must have it._  
            She inhaled and began turning her head to call to Adam. But before she could utter anything, something struck her hard on the back of the head. In an instant her legs gave out and she crumpled to the floor. The pot shattered on the floor near where her head landed. Coffee spread out across the tiles. Then, she fell unconscious.  
            Adam watched Larisa for a few moments. Once he realized she wasn’t going to get up for a while, he put his mug down on the counter like nothing had happened.  
            “I’m sorry,” he said to her. “I tried to think of a better way, but the last thing I needed was you looking for me or trying to stop me from leaving again.”  
            Larisa did nothing. If the hot coffee flowing around her face burned her, she gave no sign of it.  
            Adam sighed again. He felt terrible about hitting Larisa. As much as he loved her, though, she was too much of a liability.  
            _But that’s not the problem, is it? That’s not what I feel the most guilty about._  
            He didn’t look as he brought his hands up. With force he twisted and tugged until his wedding band slid off. Then he looked again at Larisa as he dropped the ring onto the floor. It bounced a bit, landing near her head.  
            “I’m not a good husband, Larisa. I’m so sorry. I don’t know if leaving you this way will hurt you more, and I know I’m a coward for saying this to you when you can’t hear me, but I can’t keep being something I’m not. I love you, Larisa. But I have to do this. I want you to be happy, so I’m letting you go. You deserve a husband who loves you more than anything in the world. Unfortunately, I’m not that husband.”  
            He turned away from the kitchen and approached the dining table. From the vase, he pulled out one of the cyclamen flowers. He returned to Larisa one last time to kneel beside her and place the flower into her hand. Then he kissed her on the cheek.  
            Once he was back in the dining room, he checked the time on his cellphone. Above the multiple notifications of unread text messages and missed calls, all from Larisa, he saw it: 7:30 PM.  
            _This will all be over soon. Only two more stops. Two more stops and I can finally put Abby to rest._  
            Without so much as glancing at Larisa again, he headed for the front door. When he opened it, though, he turned back to take a final look at the house. He had so many memories here; even the wallpaper made him wistful. But how many of his memories were real? How many had he only imagined?  
            He thought about his last project. Sanity’s house hadn’t been something he’d drawn without reference. No, he realized now that he’d drawn his own house after the fire. Sanity was lost without the man who’d left her behind. He’d left her to die; to burn to death in the aftermath of the fire he’d created to help her.  
            He’d always been Madness, hadn’t he? He must’ve known it from the very first, but was too blind to see the resemblance, even after seeing himself in the suit. It hadn’t been a sign of his own madness. It’d been his subconscious trying to remind him that it was all based on his own fathomless guilt. That it was all his fault.  
            Even now that he’d figured it all out, he couldn’t go to anyone for support. Not Dr. Frost, not Jesse, not even Larisa. They wouldn’t understand; they’d only get in his way. He had to finish this on his own. After all, nobody wanted to hear him cry. Nobody but Evangeline.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted on January 31st, 2018.

_How did I get here?_  
            This question plagued Adam’s mind, running through it over and over again. Try as he may, he could find no clear answer. A month ago, he’d been living life the same way he’d been living it for the past 23 years. Everything had been perfect. Mundane, but perfect. He had Larisa, he had Jesse . . . Two of his best friends. He hadn’t needed a psychologist. He’d been content with the routine of his life, even if Larisa was cheating on him.  
            Now he had no one. He’d pushed everyone away, because the only person he wanted was Evangeline. But she didn’t want him, did she? No, she didn’t. He couldn’t blame her, though, because the first person he pushed away was her.  
            How _did I get here?_  
            It was around 9:30 PM, or maybe later. Adam didn’t know for certain; he’d thrown his cellphone out of the car’s window while driving and didn’t have a watch. Regardless, everything seemed to have worked out in his favor. He reclined in the chair he sat in and gazed ahead.  
            Evangeline was fast asleep on her bed in the corner of the room. He’d almost wanted her to wake up as he used the key to her apartment. Getting in had been far too easy, with Eric replaced by a different doorman. Now he was in Evangeline’s bedroom, in a chair by the windows. Though she’d kept them both open, he’d closed them when he entered, hoping that the lack of a draft would wake her. But it didn’t.  
            When he entered her apartment, one of the first things he noticed was a strange smell. He couldn’t distinguish what it was, but it wasn’t pleasant. It reminded him of rotten eggs, but mixed with an air freshener. One of the stovetop’s elements was on in the kitchen, but while he wanted to turn it off, he decided not to. It didn’t matter to him whether it was on. He wondered, though, why _she_ ’d turned it on. Hadn’t she said it was broken? She must have spaced and forgotten about it. Still, he let it be. It didn’t seem broken to him, anyway, if the pilot light was on. The small blue flame, albeit fragile-looking, would only help him.  
            _How did I_ get _here?_  
            The lighter he’d bought was a golden Zippo, one that he had to flip closed to extinguish. As he sat in Evangeline’s chair, he flicked it on and snapped it shut, on and shut, on and shut. It was a tiny flame, sure, but not one he’d underestimate. On its own, he worried it might not be enough. But he doubted that’d be a problem.  
            Evangeline slept on her stomach, head turned toward him and right arm shoved under the pillow. By watching her for about ten minutes he’d learned that she was an especially fidgety sleeper. Every two minutes or so she’d adjust her position, but somehow she remained in a deep sleep. In truth, he almost envied her; how long had it been since he’d had a good night’s rest?  
            On and shut the lighter went again. His hope was that the audible flicking noise it made each time would wake her. But it didn’t.  
            _How did I get_ here _?_  
            Though he hadn’t even opened the can yet, the smell of gasoline was already pungent in the air. Every time the fire sprouted from the lighter in his hands, he tensed, anticipating a blaze to start. He figured he’d get over it after the first few times that nothing happened, but still the tiny flame unnerved him.  
            He’d taken care in buying the gasoline and lighter separately, making his anticipated two stops into three. If he hadn’t, though, he could only imagine how a clerk would react, seeing him ask for both. Would they still have sold them to him, despite the negative connotations? He wasn’t sure, but he hadn’t been willing to risk it.  
            Evangeline shifted, curling up into a fetal position with her back to the wall. Finally Adam sighed and stood up. He picked up the gas can at his feet and twisted off the cap. The scent of gasoline intensified tenfold, but he found it comforting somehow. It suffocated him, taking place of the oxygen in his vicinity, but that wasn’t a bad feeling for him. He wondered if he could get high off of this. Not that he wanted to, but it might be nice.  
            He trudged around the bedroom, pouring gasoline onto the carpet. It poured over his boots, dampening the bottom of his pant legs. When he’d created a wet circle around Evangeline’s bed, he started pouring it onto the sheets, but was careful not to get it on her. Then, for good measure, he doused the chair he’d been sitting in, too. All the while he hoped the splashing sound the gasoline made would wake her up. But it didn’t.  
            All of a sudden, he found himself thinking about the idea he’d scrapped before everything went wrong. He’d spent all this time seeing himself as the man lured away by the spider, Evangeline being the spider. That was wrong, wasn’t it? The tragic hero wasn’t a man, nor was the antagonist a woman. He’d been the spider all along, luring Evangeline into his trap. Now she was fighting him, but he wouldn’t let her leave. He’d wrap her in a web of flesh and eat her alive with the violent embrace of an inferno.  
            If Dr. Frost was right; if Evangeline, so similar to his beloved little sister, was only a figment of his imagination, then this was his only chance to repent. He’d left Abby to die in the fire he made. So now he’d make a new fire, but this time he’d hold her close and go with her, as he should’ve all those years ago. If he was wrong, and Evangeline was real . . . Well, at least they’d die together.  
            _The train might not have been real, but this fire will be. Either it’ll kill me or return me to the real world. I’ll accept whichever I’m allowed._  
            He dropped the gasoline can to the floor without care. It landed on the carpet with a thump and fell onto its side, leaking the remaining liquid onto one of the bedposts. Even this sound did little to stir Evangeline from her sleep. Standing beside her, looking down at her beautiful sleeping face, he held up the lighter . . . and then his eyes filled up with tears. Emotion seized him all at once, and he bit his lip to prevent himself from sobbing.  
            Was it guilt he felt? A worry that he might be wrong about Evangeline—that he might be about to kill an innocent girl? A fear of dying himself? He didn’t know what the cause was, but he cried anyway.  
            The fumes in the room were starting to make him light-headed. Would he pass out if he stayed in here for too long? He didn’t have time to find out, so he shook his head and got a grip. Then he turned his head to the ceiling.  
            “By the sweat of my brow,” he began in a low voice, “I will eat my food until I return to the ground, since from it I was taken. For dust I am”—he looked back down at Evangeline—“and to dust I will return.”  
            The hand he held the lighter up in was quivering. He lit it anyway. When the room didn’t burst into an immediate inferno, he snapped the Zippo shut and took a breath of relief. He hadn’t realized how scared he was until that moment.  
            _Should I stop now? I could wake Evangeline up and we could get away from here. I could warn someone about the gasoline._  
            He didn’t know what to do. So he searched for an answer on Evangeline’s sleeping face. She looked so at peace, content that she’d wake up and everything would be as she’d left it. That she’d wake up at all. The fire consuming her would wake her so, with agony as all the hairs on her body burst into flames, burning her alive.  
            _No, I . . . I can’t do this. Abby, I’m sorry. I can’t do this._  
            Adam pocketed the lighter and thought about how to wake Evangeline without scaring her. There was no way she’d expect him to wake her up, especially if she didn’t recognize him anymore. He considered leaving and turning on the fire alarm in the hallway. That’d not only wake her up (he hoped), but he’d have to do it anyway to evacuate the building.  
            He left Evangeline’s bedroom door open, but closed the front door as he left. With slow steps he made his way down the hall, toward the little red fire alarm trigger.  
            _What’s happened to me? I almost killed her. Not only am I a terrible husband, but now I’ve broken into an apartment and tried to set it on fire!_  
            He knew he’d never forgive himself for what he’d almost done. But at least once she left that apartment, she’d be safe. Maybe she’d never even know it was him who poured the gasoline.  
            There was a plastic case over the alarm that he lifted up. As he stared at the trigger, he realized he’d never pulled a fire alarm before. He supposed there had to be a first time for everything. Before pulling it, though, he stopped himself.  
            If he backed out now, he’d never be able to make it up to Abby for what he did. His poor little sister would be all alone; he’d never die the way he was supposed to—the way she had. But he couldn’t bear to bring harm to Evangeline that way. He loved her. Rather than die with her, he’d save her like he should’ve saved Abby. It wasn’t what he’d intended—rather, the complete opposite—but it would have to work.  
            “Adam!”  
            The voice was both near and far, yet Adam froze regardless. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, whether it was real or in his head, but Abby’s little voice stunned him. It sounded the same way he remembered it. His heart sunk hearing it again.  
            Then, Evangeline’s scream, muffled by the walls. He whipped his head around to look back at her apartment. From the crack under the door billowed smoke that made its way toward the ceiling in a lazy wave.  
            _What? What happened? Why is there smoke? I didn’t light anything! I didn’t start a fire!_  
            Then it hit him.  
            _No! The pilot light!_  
            “Evangeline!” He ripped the alarm handle down and the blaring noise of all the bells going off at once pierced his ears. Once they’d started, he took off running down the hall, back toward Evangeline’s apartment.  
            How had it ignited so fast? In fact, how had it ignited at all? There weren’t enough fumes to reach the pilot light; he hadn’t brought that much gasoline. There had to be another reason. As he ran, he figured it out.  
            _The strong smell when I entered . . . It wasn’t eggs; it was_ propane _! There must’ve been a gas leak somewhere!_  
            Immediately a new worry struck him: if the fire continued, how long before something exploded? His hope was that nothing of the sort would happen, but he didn’t want to wait and find out. He had to act fast.  
            When he tore open the door to Evangeline’s apartment, he flinched at the heat that blew out at him. The kitchen, front of the apartment, was a fireball. He could hardly believe the sight; when he’d left only a minute or two ago, everything was fine. Now everything was on fire.  
            Evangeline screamed again, causing him to squint past the rising smoke to see that the fire had spread into the bedroom.  
            “ _Evangeline_!” Throwing caution to the wind, he lunged into the flames and made a mad dash for her room. The heat was too much; if he wasn’t on fire, it sure felt like he was. But he pushed through and jumped in.  
            Evangeline had curled up in the corner, sitting on her pillow. The foot of her bed was on fire, as was the exposed side of it. The chair and most of the floor were also lit up. Adam looked down and saw that, while he’d ran through fire, his pant legs were still too damp to ignite. The heat would change that yet if he stood in one place too long.  
            “ _Help me_!” screamed Evangeline over the now-faint sound of alarm bells.  
            Adam pulled off his jacket and slapped it down over the flames at the foot of the bed. This put them out for the moment, so he reached his hand out toward her. “I’m here! Hurry!”  
            The girl got onto her knees and crawled toward him. As soon as she could take his arm, she did, allowing him to pull her close. He picked her up and she latched herself to his front like a child. With the adrenaline he felt, she seemed lighter than she was, so carrying her was no issue.  
            “Let’s go! I’ll get you out”—he spoke as he stepped closer to the bedroom door, but cut off when a huge flame erupted from the stovetop. The burning cloud soared toward them. As Evangeline screamed, Adam thought fast and kicked the bedroom door shut. He slammed himself against it; when the fire struck, it felt like something heavy pounding at it. “Shit!”  
            “What do we do?” Evangeline yelled in panic. “What do we _do_?”  
            There wasn’t anything _to_ do. The only way out wasn’t safe, the smoke was growing thicker. The bedroom was on fire and even if it wasn’t, the windows on the other side led only to a three-storey drop straight down. They were both going to die, and it was all his fault.  
            “I’m sorry,” Adam rasped, voice filled with regret. “I’m so sorry.”  
            The girl in his arms looked at him. On her surprised face was a look that revealed more than her confusion at his apology. It showed him that she understood that there wasn’t any hope to be had. Her pale pink lips began to quiver, light blue eyes filling up with tears. She bit her lower lip before holding him tight and beginning to cry.  
            Adam held her tighter too, nuzzling his face into her soft platinum hair that glowed orange. It still smelled like pansies. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”  
            Everything had led up to this. But wasn’t this what he’d wanted, coming here with gasoline and a lighter? It was even better now; at least he’d _tried_ to save her. It made more sense. It fit better with his plan.  
            He could feel the heat. That felt like proof enough to him that he’d been wrong; he _was_ in the real world, or at least, he was _now_. He was in the real world, and he was about to die. Evangeline was about to die. He’d never see Jesse again. Never see Larisa again. Never see Evangeline smile again. Never make another video, never get to meet any fans, never see the sunrise, never anything ever again.  
            _I won’t stand for it!_  
            The heat was ramping up. Seeing grew more and more difficult with each passing second, never mind breathing. The flames had crawled up the walls and were now licking at the ceiling. Sooner or later, flashover would ignite everything in the room that wasn’t on fire, including them. If they were going to get out, there was only one way: they had to take a risk.  
            Still holding Evangeline, Adam dashed across the room, trying to avoid the fire. Then he put her down on her feet and pushed open one of the windows. Smoke flew out as if outside were a vacuum. The fire around them intensified with new oxygen. Time was ticking.  
            “What are you doing?” Evangeline shouted.  
            Adam looked down at her. “You need to jump.”  
            “What? I’ll die!”  
            “If you do, it’s better than burning to death! But if you land on your feet and don’t tense up, you might survive.”  
            Evangeline, quivering, shook her head.  
            “It’s the only way! I wouldn’t tell you to do it if it wasn’t! Now jump!”  
            She squealed in fright and uncertainty, but allowed him to help her climb out.  
            “Hang down and push yourself from the wall! Remember, don’t tense your legs!”  
            She dangled out the window, hands gripping the sill. Once she was there, he went to the other window, pushed it open as well, and climbed out himself. When he turned his head to the left, he saw her still hesitating there.  
            “Are you ready?” he asked her.  
            “I don’t wanna,” she cried. “I’m scared!”  
            It sounded like there were people outside, below them; people that had escaped the building already. They were loud, likely watching as they dangled. Maybe they’d catch Evangeline or help to break her fall somehow.  
            “We’ll fall together, okay?” he assured her. “Everything will be all right!”  
            Though still on the border of hysteria, Evangeline nodded her head.  
            “All right, on three! One! Two! _Three_!”  
            Both of them kicked the wall and let go of the window’s ledges, pushing themselves away and beginning a free fall downward. Evangeline screamed with the crowd below. Adam tried his best to follow his own advice, but he was falling with his back to the ground and couldn’t adjust himself.  
            _Shit. Shit!_  
            He hit the ground hard, much harder than he’d expected. His back took the brunt of the fall. For a fraction of a second he thought he’d be okay, but then he felt the back of his head slam into the pavement. In an instant, everything went black. All he could hear were the distorted sounds of people shouting over one another.  
            It took a few seconds for him to be able to open his eyes again. When he did, he saw the people gathered around him. They were mouthing things, but he couldn’t concentrate.  
            “Eve,” he breathed, able only to hear himself. “Eve . . . Is she . . . okay? T-tell me she’s okay . . .”  
            The closest man to him looked up and over his shoulder. Then he looked back down and nodded. Adam painfully looked where he had; there was a tree. Evangeline had landed in it. People were trying to climb up its base to reach her, but it seemed like they’d have to wait for help to arrive.  
            His hearing returned bit by bit. Someone said, “Hang in there! Help’s on the way!”  
            All he said in response was, “Evangeline . . . Evange _line_ . . . Help Evangeline first . . .”  
            He was able to hear her moaning in pain over everyone else. Yet somehow, he knew she’d live. That was good enough for him. He let his head fall back and gazed up at the sky.  
            Flames were following the black billow of smoke up into the air, bursting forward from the windows above like a sweltering tornado. In a way, the sight was captivating. It was like watching a train wreck. There was a certain beauty to it when watching from a safe distance.  
            He’d managed to get Evangeline away from the fire. He’d saved her, like he should’ve saved Abby.  
            _I did it. She’s safe. She’s safe . . ._  
            He felt so tired. His vision began to blur; though he tried to blink it clear, he couldn’t. His eyes refused to focus. He must’ve hit his head pretty hard. On top of everything else, though, to his surprise he felt little pain. He didn’t feel anything other than a faint ache in his head and a powerful urge to sleep.  
            _I’ll just rest my eyes for a bit . . . When I wake up I’ll be better._  
            Adam closed his eyes. The embrace of sleep came fast. It was a nice feeling, like going to bed after a hard day. That was exactly how it was, wasn’t it? Today had been a long, hard day. He’d driven all over the city and jumped out of a third-storey window; easily the most eventful day he’d had in years. Now he needed to rest. Rest was bliss.  
            _Have I made it up to you, Abby? I saved her . . . I saved you._  
            He no longer felt guilty about his intentions. Rather, he felt contented that he did the right thing in the end. Behind his closed eyelids, his recent life played out for him like a movie. Once he saw the café he and Evangeline had met at—her beautiful smile directed only at him—he stopped focusing and allowed himself to slip into a deeper sleep. Even if he never woke up from it, he didn’t mind. He’d never felt so comfortable, after all. What he needed was a nice long slumber.  
            “I’m happy we’re together now,” said Eve, arms wrapped around one of his. She reached over and adjusted one of the lapels of his crisp black suit. Onto the white scarf draped over his shoulders it went. “We’ll never be apart again, will we?”  
            Adam gazed at himself in the mirror. He didn’t wonder how he’d returned to this scene. Instead, he remained composed. He reached up and slicked back his hair before looking down at Eve. She gazed up at him, wearing the same slim brown dress he’d seen her wear in this moment before. There was love in her eyes the color of the pansy stuck in her barrette. Pleased, Adam beamed at her with the same dorky grin that she loved.  
            “Never,” he assured. Then he pecked her on the lips and smiled at their reflections. They had a long night ahead of them; a night together that would never end. He could be content with that, as long she stayed by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please leave a Kudo and check out some of my other works!


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